


The Sun Through My Lifetime

by Taruolento



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 95,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taruolento/pseuds/Taruolento
Summary: This is a story about Enjolras and Grantaire growing up together and apart, living separated lives but dying together as equals.





	1. Meet me before sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all Les Misérables fans! This is my version of what could've happened between Enjolras and Grantaire through the book and movie. I'll try to follow Hugo's book as detailed as possible, but at the same time I also want to keep the scenes from the movie there. This is going to be a long story, I can't say how many chapters long, but please prepare. I'll plan to update new chapters about three times a week. Please, leave a comment, I love to read them and if you think the chapters are too long, tell me and I'll publish them in smaller dozes. Enjoy!

_1815_

Enjolras had an easy childhood. He was the only child and got everything he could ever need. He never lacked from food or clean clothes, toys or warm bed at nights. And although, he was mostly raised by his nanny and matrons, his parents were always around. Enjolras’ father had born to a middle-class family. He had been the only child as well and even though their money had been tight, his parents had invested on his studies and he had become a judge. Enjolras’ father had always been interested of politics and often spoke of equality and freedom, stirring his only child’s attraction towards those values. Unfortunately, he wasn't popular with other important people and those who he called friends, talked behind his back. They didn't understand why he lived so modestly, when he could've afforded one of the largest mansions in the whole Paris. 

Even though Enjolras’ childhood had been calm and secure, there were little love to be shared. He had never seen his parents so much as touch each other’s hands. Enjolras couldn't even remember a time someone had hugged him or otherwise touched him. He spent his time playing with other boys, whose parents were associated with his family, but he had never called them his friends. Most of the time they either argued or fought with fists. Others liked to tease Enjolras because of his father’s ideology and whenever someone said a bad word about his father, Enjolras often punched them making the kid run crying to his parents. After that, Enjolras was taken in front of his father for a lecture. His mother disapproved any violence and left the room with a loud huff and an disappointed look in her eyes, but instead of a lecture, Enjolras’ father smiled. He said that sometimes bloodshed was necessary, but most of the times words were more effective than swords. After those moments, Enjolras looked up to his father even more than before. 

But his father died when Enjolras was only ten years old. Luckily, his mother came from a rich family and they were able to move into her sister's and her husband’s house. They were a childless couple and often traveled abroad. It was six months after, when Enjolras first met Courfeyrac and Grantaire. 

 

 

Grantaire had lived with his aunt since he was nine years of age. She was a grim old lady, who always found a cause to complain about Grantaire living under her roof. He either ate too much, wore out his clothes or just grew up too fast, so the clothes got too tiny. But she let Grantaire come and go however he pleased, which was the only reason he still lived with her. That, and he loved to make the old hack’s life a little bit troublesome. Grantaire had met Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Combeferre soon after he had moved to this part of the city. They roamed the streets from sunrise to sunset, using their vivid imaginations and getting to fights with other kids and sometimes even with adults. 

Grantaire had first tasted alcohol when he had been only eight. He had snatched a half full bottle of wine from his father’s hands, when he had passed out after a long day at work. He had shared it with neighbor's other boys and got a spanking after coming home drunk. After that, four years passed until he touched another bottle again, but it went downhill from there. 

One day, almost two years since he had left his parents’ house and settled to his aunt's not so gentle care, Grantaire was out on the streets with Courfeyrac. Some people thought that he was homeless, since he always seemed to spend more time on the streets than anywhere else. Together they had wondered to a slightly better neighborhood, where rich kids often seemed to pass their time. Both, Grantaire and Courfeyrac, often laughed to the fancy dressed the boys and girls wore, shouting nasty words after them and they never said a word back, just looked at them with scared eyes and walked away, some even ran. This day however was different. A group of four rich kids passed by them, as usual, while they sat on a low brick wall. Grantaire shouted something he couldn’t remember two minutes later, making Courfeyrac laugh. Grantaire wasn't prepared, when one of the boys stepped towards them, took hold of his leg and pulled him down from the wall, making him hit his knee painfully against the pavement. 

“It is only a weak, poor squirt!” The rich boy shouted to his friends as he looked down at him. Grantaire saw Courfeyrac jump down from the wall and push the kid so hard, that he fell to the pavement as well. All the six kids started to wrestle around and even though Grantaire and Courfeyrac were better fighters, they were still no match against four, much older boys. Grantaire did his best to stand up, but every time he did, someone pushed or kicked him down, so he fought while on the ground: hitting toes and biting ankles. Courfeyrac was pushed down as well and soon their resistance was futile, when gleaming leather shoes started to kick and stomp them from every direction.

“Stop it!” A voice, which didn't belong to any of the boys fighting, suddenly raised above all the racket. Grantaire saw the boy, who had been stomping him from the front, being pulled away. “This is not a way to treat another citizens!” The voice clearly belonged to a young boy, couldn't be much older than Grantaire himself, but the words seemed to be spoken like an old man: with dignity and certitude. 

Grantaire managed to lift his head and to see the new boy getting punched by one of the rich kids, but he was punched back with equal, or maybe even harder force. The fight soon died down, when the boy who had first pulled Grantaire down, now backed off, holding his bleeding nose. Grantaire quickly struggled to his feet and helped Courfeyrac up as well. Finally, he was able to take a good look at the boy, who had come to their aid. The boy was from a rich family as well, according to his clothing and the way he held himself: high like the best of generals. He had big hazel eyes which were burning with fire and wild blond hair, almost as wild as Grantaire’s. This was the first time Grantaire laid eyes upon Enjolras.

The influence had been instant, or so Grantaire later thought. And it only grew bigger, when the boy opened his mouth to talk again:

“We should treat everyone as our equal! Beating them up, just because they are poor is not evaluating France anywhere!” Blood spilled from the boy’s mouth as he spoke. His lip was cut and probably one of his teeth had gotten loose, but that didn't stop him. Grantaire watched in amaze how this boy, who was hit by a beam of sun coming from between the clouds, managed to develop such a fierce fire and determination while his mouth was full of blood. 

“They called us names!” The boy, who still held his bleeding noise, said and glared towards Grantaire.

“And is it not their privilege to call richer people by names?” The blond boy stepped forwards, which made him look even bigger than he already was. His presence seemed to fill the whole street. “These kids, who has not gotten anything from the government and who has been raised feeling starvation and cold, are they not justified to get their voices heard?” 

Grantaire was sure, this kid hadn't heard a word he had said to the group of boys, because if he had, he wouldn't have stepped up for them like he did or talk words, which sounded so exaggerate. 

The four boys looked between each other. “Do play with the rat kids if you like, Enjolras. You have always been one of them anyway.” One of the boys said. Grantaire couldn't understand how someone could talk to this boy with so much disrespect, but the fair-haired boy didn't even flinch. The boys turned their backs on them and walked away.

“Are you alright?” The boy, Enjolras, turned towards Grantaire and Courfeyrac.

“ _Oui_ , thank you.” Courfeyrac said before Grantaire could even comprehend what the boy had said.

Enjolras seemed to eye them carefully, not in disrespect, but with curiosity. Grantaire thought, that this boy had never had fun in his whole life. There was something serious in every aspect of him: he stood with tensed muscles, lips pressed together and a visible wrinkle between his eyebrows, even though he was too young to have wrinkles. He was probably a bit younger than Grantaire, but definitely not as young as Courfeyrac.

“You do not look so well.” Grantaire managed to say, as he watched the boy’s bleeding lip. Enjolras lifted his hand to touch his lip and seemed only then to notice the blood. 

“It will heal.” Enjolras said nonchalantly. He knew his mother would give him a lecture, not one like his father had used to give, but just harsh words which lacked meaning. “I should be going.” Without any more words, Enjolras turned around and walked away.

Grantaire stared after the boy with glazed eyes, wishing that he could one day become as calm and collected as he was. He wondered if he would ever see this boy again.

 

 

A month later, Grantaire was heading towards the Luxemburg’s garden, where he was supposed to meet his friends. They were planning to find a way to sneak into an opera on the following day. But Grantaire never made it to the Luxemburg’s garden, since his journey was halted by a familiar fair-haired boy. He was sitting alone on the pavement, drawing something to the ground with a wooden stick, looking like he had nothing better to do. He looked like the unhappiest child on Earth. Grantaire slowed down his steps when he saw him, but wondered if he should stop and talk to him. The boy, Enjolras, had probably been kind to him and Courfeyrac only because they had been in trouble, but otherwise, he might not want to have anything to do with a poor, scrubby kid like Grantaire. 

Grantaire was just about to walk pass him, when he found himself to ask: “Did you lose a tooth?” 

Enjolras lifted his head sharply and his hazel eyes seemed to bore through Grantaire’s soul. Grantaire just stood there, feeling awkward and wondering that the boy didn't probably even remember him. 

“No, I did not.” The boy finally replied and as if Grantaire hadn't otherwise believed him, he grinned to show his whole column of teeth.

Grantaire couldn't hide a smile, to hear that the boy hadn't forgotten him. “Why are you alone?” He asked then and without hesitation or permission, sat beside the boy to the pavement. 

The boy eyed him for a moment before answering: “The others do not wish to play with me. They say I rather spend my time with poor kids.” 

Grantaire felt a sting of shame in his stomach for causing this boy to lose his friends for stepping up for them. ' _Do you want to be my friend?_ ’ He wanted to ask, but instead he inquired: “Have you ever swam in Seine?”

The boy shook his head firmly. Grantaire jumped up and waved for him to follow. 

“Won’t it be cold?” He heard Enjolras ask from behind him.

“Certainly.” Grantaire answered without looking back. It was only May, so the water was, without fail, extremely cold.

“Won’t we get sick?” Enjolras inquired.

“Probably.” Grantaire answered to him indifferently. He wasn't afraid to get a flu.

“I have heard that the sewers run down to Seine, making it dirty.” Enjolras said then, sounding little disgusted.

“They do, but only lower down the stream.” Grantaire replied and waited for the next question, which never came.

They walked in silence to a spot where the dock lowered to a small platform where women came to retrieve water and kids used to swim. They climbed down the stairs and without hesitation, Grantaire sat down, took off his shoes and sank his feet in the water. He took hold of the edge and lifted himself against his arms to dive into the river.

“You are not taking your clothes off?” The boy asked a little surprised as he had just started to take off his own shoes.

Grantaire looked back at him and grinned. “No, my clothes needs washing as well.” 

For a moment, Enjolras just looked at him with a stunned expression, then a small smile appeared on his face. Grantaire thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as that, like the sun reflected itself from this boy’s smile. Before he could even think about going under the water again, Enjolras ran to the edge and jumped into the river. This time it was Grantaire’s turn to watch in amaze as the blond head emerged back to the surface.

“You were right.” Enjolras said, coughing water from his lungs. “It is cold.” He looked funny when his hair was now glued against his face. 

Grantaire smiled and dived into the coldness as well. He felt the darkness enfold him and the freezing water made his skin tingle all over. He felt the familiar feeling of being totally alone in this world: he could see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing. It was like the entire world had just stopped being. He was sometimes drawn to think this way and it always made him feel lonely. But it lasted only for two seconds as his head popped up to surface as well. All the noises of the city carried their way into his ears: people talking, horses’ feet hitting the pavement and Enjolras swimming around. He could smell the familiar scent of Paris: smoke and animal feces. They swam around for a minute or two until they could no longer feel their toes nor fingertips.

“We should get out.” Grantaire suggested and with a great struggle, they climbed back to the dock, their wet clothes almost pinning them back down.

For a while they sat in silence, both shivering with cold. Fortunately, the day was bright and the sun warmed their faces. 

“My _mére_ will get mad.” Enjolras finally said as he looked down to his clothes.

“So will my aunt, but only if she sees me before I go in my room.” Grantaire grinned. “Me and my friends are going to sneak into an opera tomorrow. Come with us.”

Enjolras thought about the suggestion for a while. “I shall try and accompany you, but now I need get going. It must be pass dinner time already.” To Grantaire’s disappointment the boy got up and started to pull his shoes back on. It was a difficult task, since his feet were still moist. Then he turned towards Grantaire with a serious frown on his face, like he had suddenly got mad. “What is your name?” He asked then.

“Grantaire, but my friend call me R.” Grantaire answered, although most of the time, his friends didn't even use his nickname.

The boy seemed to ponder about it for a moment before nodding. “I see you around, Grantaire.” He then turned around and climbed up the stairs.

For a long while, Grantaire just sat there, staring after him. It was the first time Enjolras left Grantaire wondering what he meant to him, when he decided to use his full name instead of his nickname. If Grantaire had cut his ties with Enjolras at that moment, his life could have turned out very differently.

 

 

The following day, Grantaire waited for Enjolras at the same spot they had met yesterday, but Enjolras never came. Grantaire sat there until sunset, but Enjolras was still nowhere to be seen. He heard the church bell hit seven times. The opera was about to start. Reluctantly, Grantaire got up and headed towards the l’Opéra. He met his friends outside, huddled close together and discussing with low voices, so no one could overhear them.

“Have you find a way in?” Grantaire asked as he was close enough for them to hear. All three of them turned to look at him and hushed for him to quiet down. 

“Where have you been, R?” Combeferre asked. “We thought you were not coming.” 

“Of course I came.” Grantaire was a little offended that they thought he was dull enough to let something like this to pass by. 

“Then where were you yesterday?” Courfeyrac inquired. “Did your aunt lock you in your room again?”

Grantaire laughed in mockery. “Absolutely not! I will not let her do that to me a second time.” He answered fast. The truth was, that she had done it at least four times before, but he had told Courfeyrac about it only once, when he had missed their meeting earlier because of it. His aunt liked to scold him like that, whenever hitting with her walking stick wasn't enough. Like when Grantaire had come home soaked wet for the first time and it had not been raining. “I met the boy who helped us few weeks ago with the snobby kids.” Grantaire answered Courfeyrac’s original question.

“Oh, that fair-haired boy? What was his name?” Courfeyrac started to search his memory.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire answered for him. The boy’s name was nice to say out loud.

“Right, Enjolras. You should have brought him with you.” Courfeyrac said and Grantaire was happy to hear he would have accepted the kid, even though he was rich, unlike them. They were not the poorest ones in Paris, expect Feuilly, who was an orphan and had been living by himself for years now, but the gap was still large between them and someone like Enjolras.

“He could not make it.” Grantaire said, but didn't know why Enjolras couldn't come. “But we should hurry.”

They sneaked in through a side door, which the opera singers used. It was guarded tightly, but since Combeferre was a great actor and he was dressed best from the rest of them, he walked to the guard with teary eyes and then dramatically passed out in front of him. The guard dived down to catch him before he hit the ground. The three friends tiptoed inside, while his attention was elsewhere. Feuilly stayed behind by the doorway and waved for Combeferre to follow. When he saw the sign, Combeferre jumped up so quickly that the guard got taken aback and he only stared after Combeferre, as he ran towards the door. Then the guard saw both Combeferre and Feuilly disappear inside.

“You little brats!” They heard the man shout after them and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them along the corridors, laughing as they went. 

They hid themselves to various of rooms whenever they saw someone walk towards them. Eventually, they managed to make their way behind the curtains, where they could see to the stage. Feuilly and Combeferre had been there once before, but this was the first time for Grantaire and Courfeyrac. Grantaire watched the play, completely mesmerized. He felt the music and singing go straight through his body and soul and he found it impossible to look away. It was something he had never seen or heard before. Only the carnivals triumphed the dresses the singers wore. Grantaire forgot about the backstage, his friends, himself and his life. It was like he was a bird, flying at the ceiling, watching down to the play and dancing through the air. 

“There you are!” The play was almost over, when the guard finally found them. All four of them startled and scattered around to get away from the man: Combeferre disappeared behind the curtains, Feuilly dived between the man’s legs, Courfeyrac went to his right and Grantaire to his left. But Grantaire had time to take only a couple of steps, when he felt a strong hand take a hold of his arm. He tried to break himself free: he kicked, he waved his fists around and screamed, but it was no use. Even Courfeyrac tried to help him by kicking the man hard to his knee, but he had to flee when the guard tried to catch him as well with his free hand. Grantaire watched in despair as his friend disappeared to the crowd. 

He was taken to the police station. There wasn't much Grantaire remembered about his first visit there afterwards. He recalled standing in the middle of the room, the guard still holding his arm tightly, hurting him. He didn't remember what the station had looked like, since his eyes had been full of tears. A police officer had said something to him, but he couldn't remember what. Then he was asked a question, which he didn't hear.

“Answer, you little brat!” The guard squeezed his arm even harder and Grantaire bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out in pain. “What is your name?”

Grantaire stayed quiet and just stared at the floor, fearing that they would lock him up. That he would spent the next ten years of his life in hard labor as a galley, like his aunt had told happened to prisoners. He was paralyzed with fear and snapped out of it, only when he heard a familiar name being spoken out:

“…Enjolras? His mother is worried. The doctor told her, that he might not make it. I will pay a visit to their house after this.” An elderly woman talked to one of the officers, probably her husband. Then her eyes were drawn to Grantaire and the worried look turned to disgust. “Brats like those should be sick instead of a sweet kid like Enjolras.” 

Grantaire couldn't do anything else but to stare at the cruel woman. If he had heard her talk like that in the streets, he would've said something, such as: Gossiping hags, like you, should be thrown to Seine, below the exit of the sewers. But here, in an impossible situation, he could only stare. Still Grantaire wasn't mad at her for long. He kept thinking if they were talking about the same Enjolras he knew. It was likely, since the Seine’s water had been freezing the day before.

“Enjolras…” Grantaire mumbled to himself.

“What? What did he say?” The police officer asked, who had been demanding his name earlier. “Did he just say his name is Enjolras?” 

“That cannot be.” The hag said and turned up her nose. “Such a fair name does not suite an ugly child like him.”

“Is this Enjolras fair-haired and beautiful?” Grantaire raised his voice so they couldn't miss his words. He kept his eyes fixed on the woman and saw the horror on her face, when she realized Grantaire knew who she had been talking about.

Before anyone could say anything, a loud crash filled the room. A huge stone had been thrown through the window, breaking it to small pieces.

“Run, Grantaire!” Courfeyrac’s voice carried its way inside from the street and they heard footsteps fade to the darkness of the night. 

Grantaire didn't need to be told twice and with a sharp movement, he turned towards the guard, kicked him between the legs as hard as he could, making the man howl in pain. He was able to get his arm free and ran towards the door. But the woman cut his way, spreading her hands in front of him. Grantaire dived, but she managed to get hold of his neck, almost choking him. Grantaire took hold of her hand and bit down. The woman screamed and let him go, so he managed to escape through the door. When the officer got to the doorway, the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Grantaire had ran to the shadows, cast by the lanterns and crouched there to make sure he was not followed. He still tasted blood and something, he wished was a hand cream in his mouth and spit to the ground. He thought about following Courfeyrac, to ensure him that he had gotten away, but instead he stayed where he was, keeping an eye on the police station’s door, waiting patiently. When the old hag stepped outside, muttering something about ill-bred brats, Grantaire followed her silently. This could be his last change to meet with Enjolras. He wondered how he could follow the woman, if she decided to take a wagon instead of walking, but his fear turned out to be irrelevant.

Grantaire soon found himself in a huge courtyard, surrounded by tall, white walls and in the middle, was a beautiful fountain with three statues, proposing horses standing on their hind-legs. The walls compound to a massive, three floor building, which had to have at least hundred rooms. Grantaire followed the woman with his gaze. She walked to the front door and knocked. The door was opened and some words were exchanged. Grantaire was too far away to hear everything they said, but a man who had opened the door said something about the doctor coming tomorrow. The woman nodded and turned to leave and the door was closed behind her. Grantaire hadn't prepared for her to turn so quickly and to his dread, the woman spotted him standing close to the fountain. 

“You!” She breathed out and started to run towards him. Grantaire was surprised how fast this old hag could be, but she was no match to him. In reality, the old woman was only forty-two years of age, but to a twelve-year-old Grantaire, she seemed like she could kick the bucket at any minute.

 

 

At dawn, Grantaire was already standing on the same street corner he had ran by last night. At the other side of the street stood white walls, which hid the building where Enjolras lived in. He had planned to get inside the walls and find a way inside the house. But to his dread, the gates which had been open last night, were now shut and there was no other way in. The old hag had probably told the household that a street brat was hanging around their yard. He had felt miserable, until he remembered what the butler had said to the old woman last night: they had called a doctor for Enjolras. 

For hours, Grantaire waited for the doctor to arrive. He feared that he might never turn up, that Enjolras had succumbed to the illness, which Grantaire had caused him by making him jump in to the Seine. 

Finally, around noon, Grantaire heard a horse wagon approach him from down the street. It was the fifteenth wagon to go by that morning and Grantaire thought it was another wealthy man, going to the market or nearby bank. When the wagon had almost passed him, Grantaire noticed the passenger: an older man, who had a serious look on his face and wore a black jacket. Grantaire could recognize a doctor from miles away. He had never been visited by that serious looking, scary man, but had heard so many stories about what doctors did, that he often ran the other way, whenever he saw someone like that coming.

The wagons stopped in front of the closed gates. Grantaire didn't hesitate. He jumped up to the back wheels’ cross pole and supported himself by taking hold from the wagon’s side. If the driver had looked back at that moment, he had probably seen Grantaire’s fingers sticking out from the sides. Grantaire waited patiently for the wagons to start moving. He held on tightly as he heard the gate being opened and the horses being urged forward. The wagons reeled inside and Grantaire watched nervously as the butler stood beside the gate, waiting for the chance to close the gate again. Fortunately, the man didn't look towards the rear of the wagon and instead surveyed the street suspiciously. 

Grantaire waited until the wagons started to round the fountain and when the butler turned his back to close the gates, before jumping down and quickly hiding behind the nearby plants. He watched from there as the butler walked to open the front door for the doctor and they disappeared inside. The wagons seemed to stay there until the doctor was ready to leave. Grantaire looked around, trying to find a way in, when his eyes landed on a second-floor window, which was slightly open. He glanced towards the driver again, who had lit up his pipe and was staring towards the street. Confident, that the man couldn't see him, Grantaire started to climb along the wall. The house was easy to climb. Grantaire’s hands found a steady grip from the windowsills and veneer decorations. Once he got to the window, he hung below it for a moment to hear if someone was inside the room. Soon, he was able to hear talking but couldn't make out what they were saying. There were at least two voices, one was a man, probably the doctor and the other belonged to a woman. Soon, Grantaire felt his grip starting to slip and he tried to huddle, as close as possible, against the wall. The conversation seemed to drag on forever.

Enjolras listened quietly the communication between his mother and the doctor. He didn't say a word, wanting only to fall asleep. He hadn't been able to sleep during the night, since he had been awakened by the need to cough every now and then. 

“I shall come to examine you again tomorrow, Enjolras.” The doctor said to him and Enjolras only nodded. He knew there was no need for the doctor to come back every day, but the man had set interest towards his mother and always found an excuse to come to the house.

“We were just about to have a dinner. Would you like to join us?” Enjolras' mother asked and the doctor accepted the offer politely. Before they left, his mother turned to talk to him: “Enjolras, please try and eat something. Shayla left your dinner on the table.” 

“ _Oui, mère_.” Enjolras promised, although he didn't feel like eating. The door was closed and the room fell back to its usual silence. Enjolras closed his eyes, ready to welcome the sleep he graved so much, but for some he was unable to fall asleep . He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, annoyed. A scuffle, coming from the window, made Enjolras look towards it and see a familiar dark-haired boy climb inside. 

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras asked as he sat up in the bed.

Grantaire smiled widely at him. “You didn't come to the opera and I heard you got ill.” He had stayed by the window, sitting on the ledge and waving his legs.

Enjolras stared at him for a moment, as if he couldn't decide if he should be angry or not, but eventually a pleased smile appeared on his lips. He shifted a little, so he could look at Grantaire better. “Come and sit down.” He said and Grantaire obeyed immediately. “How did you get in?”

“I stole a ride from the doctor.” Grantaire said as he sat down to a chair beside the bed. “After I got inside the walls, I saw the open window. What a luck that it was your bedroom’s window and not your parents.”

Enjolras nodded in agreement. “My, _mère_ would have frightened so much, she would have probably pushed you down.” They both laughed at that, which caused Enjolras to start coughing loudly. Once he was able to stop, he looked back at Grantaire, who eyed him worriedly. “You should stay back, I might infect you.” Enjolras warned with a hoarse voice.

“I do not care.” Grantaire said vigorously and as if defying the danger, he leaned even closer. “I came to apologize for taking you to the river. If you have never swum there before, swimming so early in the spring can cause something like this.”

Something odd flashed in Enjolras' eyes and he looked away from Grantaire, like he had been hurt. Enjolras should've known that Grantaire had come here only to gain his forgiveness. “You are not to blame, for I chose myself to follow you and jump to the river. There is nothing to forgive, so you can go now.” His voice was flat and he turned to look at Grantaire again.

Grantaire was a little surprised to hear how Enjolras’ voice had turned so cold, like he didn't want him there anymore. “That is not why I am here. I wanted to make sure you are recovering.” He answered almost as firmly as Enjolras just now. 

Enjolras felt tired. The fever had returned and his cheeks were flushed. He leaned his head against the pillow and nodded. “Very well then. Stay if you like.” He stared at the ceiling again, when he noticed from the corner of his eye, that Grantaire was watching something at his bedside table. He turned his gaze towards it as well and noticed the untouched bowl of warm onion soup. “Are you hungry?” He asked from the boy, who nodded almost shyly. “You can have that, if you like.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened and he looked between Enjolras and the soup. His stomach craved for food and he ate the soup with his eyes, but his conscience didn't let him eat an sick boy’s dinner. “I eat it.” He then said and Enjolras only nodded absentmindedly. “But only if you ask for another one and eat that yourself.”

This time Enjolras eyes sharpened and the frown appeared between his eyebrows. “Why?” He then asked, not understanding Grantaire’s suggestion. 

“Will you do it, or not?” Grantaire only asked and crossed his arms, just when his stomach growled loudly.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s stomach with a little pained expression before sighing in defeat. “Very well.” He said and reached out to take a small bell from the bedside. “You better hide under the bed.”

Grantaire crawled under it quickly and heard Enjolras ring the bell. The maid came inside surprisingly quick, as if she had been employed only to answer Enjolras’ needs and hover outside his door.

“What is it, mister Enjolras?” The maid asked politely. 

“Shayla, bring me a new bowl of soup, please.” Enjolras asked equally politely. Grantaire found it a little amusing.

“Is there something wrong with the previous one?” The maid looked surprised between her mister and the full bowl of soup.

Enjolras realized only then, that he should have asked Grantaire to take the bowl with him, but he soon collected himself and shook his head. “No, leave it here. I only feel hungry.”

“I can bring the new bowl later, when you have eaten the first one, so it won’t get cold.” Shayla offered but was responded by a firm head-shake. 

“Bring it now, please.” Enjolras asked again and Shayla bowed a little before leaving the room.

“I could get used to live like this.” Enjolras heard Grantaire’s voice coming from under the bed. “Does she do everything you ask her to do?”

“Pretty much.” Enjolras answered. “But I do as much as I am allowed by myself. I even tried to prepare food, but the cook got tired of me being in the way at the kitchen.”

“I hate cooking.” Grantaire confessed and changed his position, so he was lying on his back. The carpet was soft and warm underneath him. The bedroom was bright and didn't smell funny like his own room. “Your bed is enormous.” He said after a short silence, eyeing the wide frame of the bed. It could have easily fit three grown up people to sleep on it. 

Enjolras hummed in agreement. “No man needs as much.” He said then, making Grantaire think. If he had so much money, he would probably take all the children from the streets to live with him, clothe them and feed them. Make the world a better place. A safe place. He would teach them how to dance and make them learn some drinking songs.

There was a knock on the door and Shayla stepped inside, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup on it. 

“Here you go, mister Enjolras.” She said as she placed the tray on Enjolras’ lap. “Call me, when you are done and I will come to collect the dishes.” 

“Thank you, Shayla.” Enjolras expressed his gratitude. He watched as Shayla curtsied and walked out, closing the door softly behind her. “You can come out now.” He said and heard rustle from under his bed as Grantaire crawled out.

“What if she comes back?” Grantaire asked and sat back down to the chair. He inhaled deeply when the delicious smell of the soup floated to his nose. 

“She will not, if I do not call for her.” Enjolras answered and waved his hand towards the other bowl. “Eat.”

Grantaire took the bowl, hesitantly at first, but once he got it into his lap, he started to devour it like he had never had anything to eat before. For a moment Enjolras sat there, looking at Grantaire with wide eyes. Then he looked down to his own soup, feeling sick by even watching it. 

Grantaire had never tasted anything so good. There were spices he couldn't even name. He placed the bowl to his lips and drank the last of its drops avariciously. Then he sighed in relief and wiped his mouth to his sleeve, only then noticing Enjolras just sitting there, staring at his soup.

“You should eat it.” Grantaire said and Enjolras looked up at him almost scared. “You promised.”

“ _Oui_ …” Enjolras muttered and looked back down again. Hesitantly, he took the spoon to his hand and dipped it to the soup. Grantaire watched intently as he lifted the spoon to his mouth and took it into his mouth. For a while he rotated the soup in his mouth before swallowing it. To Enjolras it felt like the hardest thing in his life to finish the bowl, but he managed to do it. Strangely, afterwards he felt a little better. “How was it?” He then asked from Grantaire.

“Delicious!” The boy smiled widely at him.

“I was not talking about the soup, but the opera.” Enjolras was a little amused. 

“Oh…” Grantaire breathed and fell to his thoughts, wondering how to put it to words. “It was amazing…” He started to speak with a low voice and leaned a little closer to Enjolras. “All the costumes floating around the stage and the voices seemed to fill the whole hall. I do not know how the performers managed to get so much voice out from themselves. It was brilliant.” 

Enjolras leaned his head down to his pillow and looked up to the ceiling again, trying to imagine what it had been like. “I wish, I could have been there.”

“You have never been in an opera?” Grantaire though every kid, who had wealthy backgrounds, had seen multiple operas, but Enjolras shook his head for an answer. “Then, once you get better, we will go and see one.” He promised to him.

“I would like that.” Enjolras’ face lit up as well. 

“What about carnivals? Have you ever been in one of those?” Grantaire asked then.

“Once or twice, when I was little.” Enjolras thought for a moment. “But I cannot remember much about them.”

“I love carnivals! People are laughing, dancing and playing music. Smell of fresh food fills your senses and there is colors everywhere. But the dancing, the dancing is the best part. I just love to sway around to the music.” Grantaire’s face lit up, while he talked, like the experience had been the most amazing thing he had ever been through. 

Grantaire’s words maid Enjolras whole body tingle. He wanted nothing more than to leave this room and see a carnival to the Charles de Gaulle plaza. He imagined himself there, listening at the music and watching Grantaire dance, clapping his hands to encourage him. 

They talked for hours, until Enjolras’ cheeks were flushed red and his voice started to give in and he coughed more than he managed to talk. Suddenly, the room seemed very dark. Only then, Grantaire noticed how long he had been there: the sun was setting. 

“I must go.” Grantaire stood up and took a step towards the window, but then stopped. He turned to look back at Enjolras and seemed to hesitate. “Is it okay, if I come back tomorrow?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer, but his throat was so hoarse, that he was unable to speak, so instead he nodded and reflected the smile that appeared on Grantaire’s face. With that Grantaire climbed nimbly to the windowsill, waved for goodbye and disappeared to the darkness.


	2. Climb up before you fall

_1815  
May_

At daybreak, Grantaire returned the same way as he had the day before to knock on Enjolras’ window. Enjolras staggered, like a drunkard, across the room to let him in. 

“You do not look so well.” Grantaire said as he watched Enjolras return to his bed.

“Only dizzy.” Enjolras replied and buried himself between the sheets again. He watched as Grantaire closed the window and came to sit to the same chair as yesterday. Slowly, Enjolras started to feel a little better again and his head didn't feel so blurry anymore. “Are you hungry? I saved you some of my breakfast.” Enjolras nodded towards the side table, where a slice of white bread and half full glass of milk laid. 

“Yes, sir!” Grantaire joked lively and retrieved the small breakfast to himself. As he drank the milk in one go, the movement made the sleeve of his shirt expose his wrist and Enjolras saw a nasty looking bruise and scratch marks on his skin. 

“Where did you get those?” Enjolras asked, eyeing Grantaire’s wrist with a deep frown on his face.

Grantaire didn't seem to understand what Enjolras was talking about, until he followed his gaze to his arm. Instinctively, he pulled the sleeve over the bruised skin, as if Enjolras hadn't already seen it. “My ummm…” He started and seemed to think for a while. “My aunt gets mad sometimes. I forgot to purchase food last night before going home, so she dragged me into my room. It looks worse than it is.” Grantaire smiled, like it was nothing, but it didn't make Enjolras look any happier. 

Enjolras had never been rough handled by anyone else but the other kids and he always gave them back what they deserved. Once, his mother had pulled his hair when he had broken her sister’s expensive vase. He had imagined it contained the souls of all the people who had died in a war and had “released” them by waving the thing around the room, but the vase had slipped from his hands. He had been mad at his mother afterwards, but soon thought he had deserved it. No one should destroy other’s possession like that.

“Does she do that often?” Enjolras asked then and Grantaire only shook his head, still smiling.

“What did the doctor say this morning?” Grantaire changed the subject and reluctantly Enjolras went along with it. 

“He was glad that I ate something yesterday. Otherwise my condition would stay the same.” Enjolras answered, not really caring what the doctor said. He had gone to talk with his mother downstairs again. He was clearly more interested in her than his well-being.

“You look like you still have a fever.” Grantaire shifted himself from the chair to the side of the bed. He sat down carefully, as if asking permission to come to Enjolras’ bed, and since the fair-haired boy did not seem to disapprove, Grantaire sat down properly. He reached out to touch Enjolras’ forehead and placed his other hand against his own, like he remembered his mother once doing. “Your forehead is much warmer than mine.” 

Enjolras enjoyed the feeling of Grantaire’s, almost cold, hand against his skin and nearly pulled it back there, when Grantaire withdrew it. He hoped he would not infect Grantaire with his illness, but it seemed like the other boy was much tougher than him. 

During the rest of the day, they talked about everything and nothing. Mostly about the carnivals Grantaire seemed to love so much and his friends, who Enjolras wished he could meet soon. To Enjolras, Grantaire’s life seemed so much exciting than his. Occasionally, Grantaire dived under the bed when the maid, Shayla, came to check on how Enjolras was feeling and to bring him food, which they shared together. After one of those visits, Grantaire crawled from underneath the bed and came to sit beside Enjolras to the empty space next to him. 

 

 

Grantaire woke up to the sunlight shining to his face. It was strange, since the sun never reached the window of his room. He squinted his eyes and tried to make out where he was. Then a loud knock made him startle and sat up. At the same time, someone pushed him over the edge of the bed and to the floor. Without even thinking, Grantaire crawled under the bed and breathed heavily. He was wide awake now and wondered, at what point had he fallen asleep on Enjolras’ bed. 

The door was opened and Shayla walked in. “The doctor is here to see you, Enjolras.” She said and Grantaire saw her walk to the bedside table. A delicious smell reached his nose from the breakfast she had brought with her. Soon a man with heavy gait, arrived into the room. The doctor walked straight to Enjolras and started to examine him. Grantaire saw yet a third pair of shoes from underneath the bed, they belonged to a woman standing on the doorway. Her shoes looked expensive and new, but the fashion beckoned to a middle-aged woman, most likely Enjolras’ mother. 

“Cough.” The doctor was now listening Enjolras’ lungs and waited carefully as the boy did what he was told. “Hmmm… Very good.” The man muttered mostly to himself and Enjolras was glad he was able to put his shirt back on again.

“How is he?” Enjolras’ mother asked and smiled fondly to her son.

“There is still slime in the respiratory tract, but I believe it has decreased. Your mother said you have been eating well recently.” The doctor then turned from Enjolras’ mother to the boy himself.

" _Oui, monsieur_.” Enjolras answered. He had started to feel like his appetite was returning and the portions, he shared with Grantaire, felt too small to fill his stomach. 

“That is very good. Food always hastens the recovery.” The doctor smiled, contented. “Shall we continue the talk downstairs, madam?” 

“Of course.” Grantaire heard Enjolras’ mother reply and the shoes disappeared through the door, leaving him and Enjolras alone once more. He crawled back on top of the bed, a little nervous to see if Enjolras was mad at him for dozing off like that and not leaving yesterday like he should've done, but Enjolras only took the tray from the table and offered him another of the two slices of bread.

Grantaire accepted it, still a little ashamed. “ _Merci_.” He muttered and they ate in silence.

“You wanted to hear more about masquerades?” Enjolras suddenly asked, his mouth full of bread. Grantaire’s bad habits seemed to transmit quickly to him. 

“Absolutely!” Grantaire said in delight and took a better sitting position, staring at Enjolras intensely.

“It has been over a year since I was in one, but I believe I still have the mask somewhere around here.” Enjolras looked around his room, trying to figure out where he could've placed it. “It is probably there.” He finally pointed towards a drawer, near the window.

Grantaire climbed down from the bed and went to search for it. He soon found a golden-blue mask with beautiful decorations and a great white feather on the side. He had only seen people wearing one, but he had never actually touched a mask or felt what it was like to hold against his face. “May I?” He asked and turned towards Enjolras, who nodded. Grantaire placed it on his face and smiled widely. The mask covered part of his eyesight and he rushed back to sit at the edge of the bed. 

“What is it like? To be in a masquerade?” Grantaire asked then, looking around the room, like seeing it for the first time.

“It is quite funny.” Enjolras started to talk. “Most people you recognize immediately, even though they are wearing the mask, but some few you can never tell who they are. It is like a mystery play. People dance a lot and _mère_ always says men should ask women to dance with them.”

“Have you danced with anyone?” Grantaire asked then, wanting nothing more than to visit a masquerade and dance around until he was too tired to dance any longer.

“No.” Enjolras just said simply, like it was not something he regretted. 

“I would dance, until no girl would be willing to dance with me anymore. I would spin them around so fast, they could barely stay standing.” Grantaire then jumped up and started to spin around the room, humming a song Enjolras had never heard before. He watched in amusement as Grantaire danced around the room. Then he suddenly stopped and turned to look at Enjolras. “How do you ask someone to dance with you?”

Enjolras placed his bare feet, from underneath the blanket, to the floor and stood up. He walked to stand in front of Grantaire and bowed with his other arm behind his back and other around his chest. “Could I have this dance?” He asked then and offered his hand to Grantaire.

“Marvelous!” Grantaire exclaimed. “Then how does one reply if they want to dance?”

“They take your hand and curtsies.” Enjolras explained. He had never felt the need to ask someone to dance with him, but had seen the ritual many times before. It was odd to see how ignorant Grantaire was about the subject.

“Let’s go then.” Grantaire suddenly took a hold of his hand and started to spin them around the room. He made pas and movements, which Enjolras had never seen before in his life. It looked more like jumping than dancing, but were deliberated carefully. For a while Enjolras tried to follow, but he didn't manage to dance as gracefully as Grantaire, although he was pretty good at it.

“In masquerades, we mostly dance waltz.” Enjolras explained, as Grantaire finally let go of his hand and danced around alone. 

“I’ve never danced waltz before.” Grantaire halted and looked down at Enjolras’ feet, like he was expecting a display from him. 

“It is quite simple, once you get the hang of it.” After a moment of hesitation, Enjolras lifted his hands up like he was dancing with someone and took a step forward. Grantaire mimicked his movements with great accuracy as Enjolras showed him the steps, counting to three at the same time. “And once you get this, you can start spinning around.” He took hold of Grantaire’s hands and started to spin them around slowly. They stood almost half a meter apart from each other and looked down to their feet, so Grantaire could learn the steps.

“You were right. This is not hard.” Grantaire eventually said and smiled brightly. Enjolras was still surprised how quickly he had learned the steps and found himself being lead around the room. They both laughed as they imagined the music playing on the background. Then Enjolras felt his breathing getting heavier and he divided their hands and started coughing. 

“You should get some rest.” Grantaire stopped as well and followed Enjolras to the bed. He only then realized, that he was still wearing the mask and reluctantly took it off. He was about to return it to the drawer, when Enjolras stopped him:

“Leave it here.” He pointed at the bedside table and Grantaire placed it there, leaning against the wall. “If you ever go to a masquerade, you can borrow that one.”

“I wish I could.” Grantaire said dreamily and gazed at the mask fondly.

Enjolras fell asleep soon after and Grantaire laid next to him. He busied himself by reading one of the books that had been on the table. He wasn't a very fast reader, but enjoyed the stories the books told. This was about a legislations in different eras. _De l’Espirit des Lois_ was the name of the book. Grantaire remembered hearing about it sometime before.

When Enjolras woke up, hours later, he got enthusiastic to talk about the book and its content, mentioning his father many times during his speech. Grantaire didn't understand everything he said, but listened in interest about his description. He wished he could someday be as intellectual as Enjolras and read a book like this while understanding everything it said.

The sun had already started to set, when they realized how late it had become.

“I should get going.” Grantaire said, a little sad for having to leave. 

“Why won't you stay?” Enjolras offered. Not liking the idea that Grantaire had to go back to his aunt and get dragged across the floors again.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, like he had proposed something impossible and altogether mad. Then he gazed at the empty space of the bed next to Enjolras, where three, or even four boys of their age could easily fit to sleep on. “My aunt says I might have fleas.” Grantaire said then with a great disappointment in his voice. Not realizing that he would've already gotten those to Enjolras' bed, if he had them.

“I do not care. I have had fleas before.” Enjolras said. He actually hated fleas; the way they made your head itch was horrible and he was not sure he liked to have that feeling on top of his illness, but he decided that Grantaire’s company was worth it. 

Finally, Grantaire grinned widely and he crawled over Enjolras to the other side. He felt much more content staying here than going to his aunt’s house. She would be furious with him once he finally decided to return, but at this moment, he didn't want to even think about that.

There was a knock on the door again and Grantaire dived under the bed without even thinking twice about it. Shayla walked in and placed the supper to the table.

“I am glad to see that the food has been to your taste, mister Enjolras.” She said with a warm smile before leaving. 

“Do you want something?” Enjolras asked after she left.

Grantaire returned on top of the bed and shook his head. “I am not hungry.” He settled to watch as Enjolras ate with a good appetite. Grantaire had decided to eat a little less after realizing Enjolras looked hungrier with every meal he ate. He was used to a little hunger, so he would do just fine with only handful of bread and some soup. It was more than he normally had. It wasn't like his aunt was too poor to feed him. She simply sometimes just forgot or was too busy to make sure they had food on the stove.

 

 

Grantaire wasn't certain what woke him up in the middle of the night, but it happened anyway. It could have been a sound, or it could have been a bad dream, or none of the former. He rose to lean against his elbows and looked around in the dark room. Enjolras laid still beside him. Grantaire felt like something was wrong. He tried to place the feeling, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire whispered, wanting the other boy to wake up. He didn't wish to wake him up, since sick people should rest, but he wanted to talk to him about this odd feeling he had. “Enjolras?” He repeated, when Enjolras didn't react. But even after that, Enjolras just laid there with his eyes closed. 

Grantaire leaned closer and shook his shoulder gently. Nothing. He tried again, this time a little harder, but Enjolras still didn’t move. At that moment, Grantaire jumped to his knees and stared at Enjolras’ body in horror. Was Enjolras dead? Was the first thing he thought and a cold chill went down his spine. 

“Enjolras!” He tried again, this time much louder, but the boy laid still. “Wait… just wait, Enjolras. I shall get some help!” Grantaire stumbled out of the bed and without hesitation, he headed to the door and outside the room. He came to a long, dark hallway with doors at both sides. He had no idea where the maid stayed her nights. So, Grantaire started to walk to his right and opened every door he passed by. After few empty rooms, Grantaire still hadn't found anyone. He started to walk faster and then run through the house.

“Help! Help! Somebody!” He shouted in the empty hallway, his voice echoing through the household. “Somebody help, please! Enjolras is…” A door was opened a few meters ahead of him, casting a bright light to his face. He couldn't see who was standing there, but it was clearly a woman. 

“Who are you?” The woman screamed once she saw him. “Shayla! Shayla!” She now retreated away from him, walking backwards.

Grantaire followed her. She didn't understand that Enjolras was in danger. That he needed a doctor, right away. “Help! It is Enjolras!” He tried again and this time the woman looked at him with wide eyes.

Behind her, they could both hear footsteps running towards them and soon Shayla and someone Grantaire had never seen before, emerged to the hallway. 

“Tadeo, get this boy out of here!” The woman, who was clearly Enjolras’ mother, now shouted. 

Grantaire saw the man move closer and he quickly backed away from him. “You do not understand! Enjolras needs a doctor!” He turned around, wanting to run back to Enjolras’ room, but the man caught his arm and stopped him. Grantaire tried to pull himself free, but the man was much stronger than him. Then he did, what he had done at the police station: he quickly turned around kicked the man with everything he got between the legs. Immediately, the hold loosened and Grantaire escaped along the corridor. But he had no idea which door lead back to Enjolras’ room. Some of the doors he had opened earlier were still open, but some had fell shut. Grantaire ran until he passed the first open door and stopped at every doorway after that. He heard footsteps coming closer, but didn't dare to look behind himself. Finally, he was met with the familiar room and he rushed inside. To his relief, Enjolras was now awake and sat up just when Grantaire stormed in. 

“You are alive!” Grantaire yelled as he jumped to the bed.

“What is going on?” Enjolras rubbed his eyes and tried to make sense of the situation. 

Before Grantaire was able to answer, the strange man and Enjolras’ mother rushed inside the room. The man took hold of Grantaire forcefully from his clothes and started to drag him out. Grantaire tried to take a hold of something. His hands found the pillar of Enjolras' bed, but his grip slipped.

“Uncle Tadeo, what are you doing?” Enjolras reached out to take hold of Grantaire’s hand, but was too late.

“Stay back, Enjolras!” His mother ordered. He had never heard her sound so upset. “Tadeo shall kick this little bastard out.” 

“ _Mère_ , no!” Enjolras tried to protest, but his mother wouldn't listen to him and only followed Tadeo out of his room. “ _Mère_!” He shouted after her and tried to get up, but his vision went black and he almost lost his balance.

“Mister Enjolras, please stay in bed!” Shayla hurried beside him and wrapped her arms protectively around his shoulders, keeping him in one place.

“Let me go, you ugly old man!” They heard Grantaire’s voice shout. Then a loud smack echoed from the hallway, like flesh had been hit with a long stick. Then everything turned silent. Shayla squeezed Enjolras even tighter in her arms.

“Get him out! He should be grateful, that we do not take him straight to the police.” Enjolras heard his mother order and the sounds confirmed that Grantaire was taken outside. The door was slammed shut and once again silence filled the house. 

Enjolras struggled free from Shayla’s embrace and half ran and half stumbled to the window. He looked outside and saw Grantaire on his knees at the other side of the gate, dragging himself forward. Enjolras didn't see how badly he was hurt, but anger filled his guts and he rushed to the hallway, taking support from walls and furniture as he went.

“ _Mère_!” He shouted once he got to the staircase and saw his mother standing below it with his father’s old walking stick in her hands. She turned to look at him, her face was stern, even though her eyes still looked like scared animal’s. “He is my friend!”

A cold laugh escaped his mother's mouth. “Your friend, Enjolras?” She asked in disbelief. “Friend? With a street rat? Your father would turn in his grave, if he could hear you say that.”

“My _papa_ would have offered him food and drinks and an _sou_!” Enjolras spat back at her and saw right away, that he had crossed the line, but he didn't care. He stood on top of the stairs, proudly, while his mother lifted the hem of her nightgown and climbed the stairs up to him. She stopped to stand in front of Enjolras and for a moment just stared at her son. Then she lifted her hand and slapped him to the side of the face so hard that tears filled Enjolras’ eyes without his will.

“Do not talk about your father that way!” She said calmly and then turned towards her bedroom. 

“ _Papa_ was a kind and generous man. He made you a better person.” Enjolras spoke the last words calmly. He waited for his mother to react, but she said nothing. He heard her walk away and close the door behind her. 

Enjolras returned to his room, feeling more tired than ever before. 

“Mister Enjolras, are you alright?” Shayla was still sitting there at the edge of his bed and quickly stood up, when she saw him walk in. She came to him and tried to touch his face, where the red spot was clear to be seen. Enjolras shied away from her touch and quickly rounded her to get back to his bed. “I am sorry, mister Enjolras. I should have watched over your room more carefully. I hope, that one day, you can forgive me.” Shayla curtsied and retreated from the room, closing the door.

Enjolras was not totally surprised, that Shayla had known Grantaire being there. He was not mad at her or not even to his mother, but to the government, which lead to situations like this. The government allowed such high differences in Frenches incomes. The government saw that rich people should have only little to do with poorer ones, as long as it was limited to the modest handout of one sou once a week. With these thoughts, Enjolras crawled back between the sheets, after he had made sure Grantaire no longer laid behind their gates and had managed to get up and head home.


	3. No one is left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get some time to post these chapters. I hope you're enjoying them so far! I've had a lots of fun, but also sad times, with this story (but mostly fun). That's probably why it has expanded to be so long. Originally, I was supposed to post only one chapter, but as always, I couldn't keep the story so short...

_1815  
May_

It took four days for Enjolras to recover, at least so much that he was able to walk outside without anyone’s help. The first two days, after Grantaire had been kicked out, he had been even sicker than before. Every morning Enjolras had waited to hear a knock on his window, but it never came. He wondered, if Grantaire never wished to see him again. Shayla had taken care of him dutifully, and to Enjolras’ relief, she hadn't said a word about that night. She had only looked worried, as she had brought a cold a towel to press against his swollen cheek. 

One night, the first day his fever had decreased, Enjolras watched Shayla bustle around his room and he opened his mouth to ask: “Do you think Grantaire hates me?” His voice was barely a whisper and sounded uncertain. 

Shayla stopped and turned to face him with surprised look. Then she smiled and came to sat beside his bed. “I am certain, that your friend still likes you.”

Enjolras stared at his hands and only nodded. He glanced towards the window and Shayla understood what he was asking.

“Maybe, he just feels afraid to come to visit you. He may think he will get you in trouble if he does.” Shayla explained and arranged the covers more tightly around Enjolras’ body. “I am sure he is alright and waiting for you once you can go outside again.”

Enjolras let out a hum of agreement. “I am tired.” He said then and laid his head against the pillow. Shayla nodded and left the room.

Two days after, Enjolras got the permission from the doctor to go outside. He knew very well, that he had meant only their garden, but once Enjolras was left alone, he headed to the gate and made his escape. He walked swiftly to the avenue he had met Grantaire the second time. After walking only few meters, he already felt a cold sweat rise to his forehead and his breathing got shallow. As he turned the corner, he expected to see the black-haired boy sitting on the pavement, waiting for him, but instead, the street was empty. Enjolras stopped to his tracks and looked around, baffled. Then he realized that, of course, Grantaire was not there waiting for him throughout the whole day. So, he sat down to the spot and waited. But Grantaire never came. Enjolras awaited him for hours, until the sun started to set and his body shivered in the chilling night. Eventually, he got up and walked home, steps unsteady and almost falling over every once in a while.

Enjolras had known his mother would be furious with him, but now, when he had not even got the change to meet with Grantaire, her anger felt even harder to deal with. He stood in the hall and listened her shouting at him, but couldn't understand a word.

“Madam, I think mister Enjolras needs rest…” Shayla, who never spoke against her mistress, raised her voice and was faced with a furious stare.

“I would never have thought you would overstep, Shayla. Leave now and prepare Enjolras something to eat.” Enjolras' mother said and watched Shayla curtsy and hurry towards the kitchen. She then turned towards her son. “Were you with that street kid?” She demanded.

“No.” Enjolras croaked out and was thankful, that his mother believed his word.

“You may go to your room.” She nodded towards the staircase.

Enjolras headed towards the stairs, when his mother’s voice stopped him: “What do you say?”

“ _Merci, mère_.” Enjolras said and saw his mother nod in approval. He continued the path towards his room. His fever rose high again that night and the doctor ordered him to bed-rest for two more days. 

Three days went by until Enjolras was let outside again. He felt much better than the first time and didn't get so fatigued as few days earlier. Enjolras was ready to greet Grantaire, but once again, the boy was not there waiting for him. This time Enjolras didn't wait for so long, but was still by he street-corner for hours. 

The following day, Enjolras returned to the curb a little later than the day before and left a little earlier as well. The day after that, he didn't expect to see Grantaire and was right to think so, when the street was as empty as before. Three days passed and still Enjolras could be found sitting there, not doing anything else but wait. Many people passed him by and he felt their eyes on him, wondering what a rich kid like him was doing all alone in a neighbor like this. Enjolras often lifted his gaze and stared back at them, which made most of them quickly look away and hasten their steps. After a while, he didn't care anymore and let the people stare. So, he didn't lift his gaze when he heard someone walk closer and not even then, when the steps stopped beside to him. Only, when a voice called out his name, Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire standing there with stunned expression. Enjolras stood up and eyed Grantaire up and down, as if searching for something.

“You are alright!” Grantaire was the first one to talk and he looked overjoyed to see Enjolras so healthy. “I have been worried sick for days. How long have you been waiting here?” Grantaire asked, smiling widely as he watched Enjolras' gaze search his body.

“I thought you hated me.” Enjolras avoided the question and finally fixed his gaze on Grantaire’s. “Shayla gave me medicine which helped me sleep. That is why you were unable to wake me up that night. I wanted to apologize for my _mère_. She did as she thought was right, but she was wrong to treat you in such an ugly manner."

“I do not hate you, but I have to say I dislike your family.” Grantaire assured him and took a few steps closer. Enjolras noticed then that he was limping badly with his left leg. 

“Did she hurt you?” Enjolras frowned.

Grantaire looked down to his knee and shrugged. “Your _mère_ is a strong woman. I was unable to walk for a few days, which is the reason I have been unable to come here.” He explained. Grantaire had been certain he would never see Enjolras again. That his mother would have ordered him to stay away from him and Enjolras would have obeyed as most kids did, but it seemed Enjolras wasn't like the most kids.

“Come!” Grantaire suddenly shouted and started to limb off down the street. “I would like you to meet my friends.”

Enjolras followed him without questions, watching in guilt as Grantaire dragged his other leg with him. It looked painful, but the boy didn't complain. They headed towards the Jean XXII’s square. The three boys, who were lingering around the square, spotted them earlier than they saw them.

“Grantaire!” One of them shouted and rushed towards them. Enjolras remembered him being the other boy who he had defended last month. Courfeyrac, was his name?

“We thought the police had sent you to prison!” Combeferre said, sounding relieved. “We even went to your aunt’s house, but she said she had not seen you in days.”

“Good grief! What happened to your leg?” Feuilly joined in. He seemed only then to notice Enjolras and eyed him warily.

Grantaire opened his mouth to introduce them, but before he could, Enjolras had stepped forward. “My name is Enjolras.” He told them, causing the others to nod in recollection. 

“Enjolras, you remember Courfeyrac?” Grantaire pointed towards his friend, who bowed amusingly. “And these are Feuilly and Combeferre.” 

“I have no idea what has happened to you in the past week, but I’d be more than willing to find out.” Courfeyrac stated and seemed to be most interested about Grantaire’s leg than anything else.

Grantaire smiled widely, glad that his friends were interested of the story he had to tell. “Then I shall tell you! But I should warn you: it is a long one.” 

The three boys looked between each other, all knowing full well how long Grantaire's storied could get, but still too curious to let this one go by. So, they found a place to sit down and listen at what Grantaire and Enjolras had to say.

 

 

Enjolras and Grantaire spent a quite long time going through the past events to the three boys. Some details they kept to themselves, with mutual understanding. They felt like those moment didn't belong to anyone else than themselves. But it seemed, they weren’t the only ones with an exciting story to tell: Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly had all made a plan how to get Grantaire out of prison. It had hindered to its own impossibility, but it warmed Grantaire’s heart to know his friends risked their future for his sake. Enjolras listened at their story silently. Wondering, in amazement, how loyal friends Grantaire had gained for himself. He wished, that someday, he could have the same kind of privilege.

“Aren't they performing opera tonight?” Grantaire asked, once he was done talking about their venture. 

“I believe they are.” Combeferre replied and looked between Feuilly and Courfeyrac for confirmation.

“There is.” To their surprise, Enjolras was the one to answer. “In a matter of fact…” He reached out to the pocket of his trousers and held out two pieces of paper. “I have a way to get us in. I do need three more tickets, but that can be easily achieved.”

“You mean, we can see the performance from the stand?” Feuilly sounded like his dream had come true. Although, Grantaire was sure that seeing opera wasn't something Feuilly dreamed about, but he had to admit, it was once in a lifetime opportunity to get to see something like that from the audience.

They decided to seize the opportunity. On their way, Grantaire and Courfeyrac listened to Feuilly and Enjolras' talk about law and judicial system. Feuilly had always been interested of justice, and as an orphan, had learned to read and write all by himself. He spent his times wherever he fancied and Grantaire often offered him a place to sleep and sneaked him inside his room, when his aunt was at work. It seemed, he and Enjolras bonded quickly, since they shared ideology. 

“Here, R! You can use this!” Courfeyrac had stopped near a hedgerow and drew a wooden stick from its root. He gave the stick to Grantaire, who examined it closely. It was just the right length for him and thick enough to support his weight. 

“ _Merci_ , Courfeyrac.” Grantaire took a few testing steps and nodded approvingly. “I feel like a gentleman!” He then smiled. He leaned against the stick and hopped around it with his healthy leg, attempting to do a little dance. 

“You should join the circus, Grantaire.” Feuilly joked, gaining an angry glare from his friend.

“I am no clown! I am going to become a dancer.” Grantaire gave up dancing and started to limb forward with his new walking stick. 

They were almost at the opera house, when Enjolras started to slow down, deep in his thoughts. “Wait!” He then shouted out, making the three other boys to stop and look back at him. “I am not certain you can get inside with…” Enjolras faltered with his words a little. “…your kind of clothing.”

All three boys looked down at their clothing, not seeing anything wrong with them. In fact, they were dressed quite nicely, since their clothes were surprisingly clean. 

“I understand.” Courfeyrac still agreed. He had seen many times people going to the opera, wearing fancy dresses and suits. “What do you propose then?”

“I wonder, if my clothes would fit you all.” Enjolras looked between the boys. Feuilly was the oldest, but not very much taller compared to others. Courfeyrac, in other hand, was one year younger than Enjolras and smallest of them all. “I shall go home and bring some clothes with me. I think I can find something among my old clothes which could fit you, Courfeyrac.”

“We will wait here.” Feuilly said and they watched Enjolras to hurry off towards his house. 

 

 

“I am bored.” Grantaire complained. He played with the stick, hitting the pavement with it, making different rhymes while they sat on a small stone fence. 

“He sure is taking his time.” Feuilly sighed and kicked the stick to make Grantaire stop. He had gotten irritated of the sound. He didn’t meant to break it, but the loud crack made it clear right away, that the damage had been done.

“You broke it!” Grantaire cried out in horror. He lifted up the cracked wooden stick and examined it in disappointment.

“I shall find you a new one, R. Promise!” Feuilly tried to fix his mistake, but Grantaire still looked sad.

“There he is!” Courfeyrac suddenly shouted, as he saw Enjolras round the corner.

“Apologies, that it took so long. I had to wait until the coast was clear to sneak these out.” Enjolras was carrying a large bag full of clothes. He started to pass them around, trying to remember which piece was the oldest one and which could fit to whom. 

“I have never been so well dressed in my life.” Grantaire admired his new clothing, already forgetting the disappointment of the broken stick. The clothes smelled like Enjolras’ home and Grantaire wished he could visit there again someday.

“I also brought you this.” Enjolras held out a black, actually real walking stick for Grantaire.

At first Grantaire thought it was the one which Enjolras’ mother had used to give him a beating, but once he took a proper look at it, he realised it was much shorter than that one.

“Can I keep this?” Grantaire asked eyeing the accessory warily. He turned it around in his hands, examining it from every angle.

“Of course.” Enjolras replied. He hadn't prepared for Grantaire to hug him, so he almost fell backwards, when the boy collapsed to his neck. 

“ _Merci_ , Enjolras! I shall take a good care of it.” Grantaire did a little dance again, making the others smile.

“You will forgive me then?” Feuilly tested the water, but got another glare from Grantaire.

“I will never forgive you!” Grantaire said sharply, but then he smiled wickedly and Feuilly knew Grantaire had already forgotten about it. 

The three boys, who had never been so well dressed, wondered if they could get inside. They were sure that the doorman would realize they were not actually rich and would kick them out like last time. But as Enjolras offered the tickets, they were guided inside without a word of protest. Enjolras hadn’t even thought that his plan could go wrong, so he wasn’t nervous at all and walked calmly inside the double doors.

Grantaire examined the interior carefully. There were so many decorations, he didn’t know where to look at. He hadn't paid so much attention to the inside of the building the last time they had been here. The five friends sat down to the back row. Many gave them odd glances, clearly seeing that four of them didn't belong there, but Grantaire didn't see those disapproving looks, nor one of the men, who walked back outside after seeing them. 

The opera was different this time. Grantaire enjoyed the music, but found it hard to just sit there and watch. He still didn't quite understand all that was going on on the stage, but he paid attention to the costumes and singing. Enjolras wasn't as fascinated as Grantaire from what they saw. He thought it was a bit too pompous. It was a story about a woman who cast a spell on a man she loved, so he would love her back. Enjolras was sure no one could love anyone so badly, that they would turn so desperate. But he still enjoyed the play, right until the middle of it, when he felt a presence of someone standing behind them.

“You should come with me, boys.” Enjolras turned his head to look at an older man, who he remembered seeing at the doorway: greeting them inside and checking their tickets.

Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Combeferre had also moved their attention away from the stage and turned a little pale. Enjolras had barely time to frown, when Grantaire looked at him with expression that reminded him of a wild animal.

“Run!” Combeferre yelped then and jumped over the back rest, to make his escape. As the old man tried to take a hold of him, Courfeyrac and Grantaire followed their friend's example. Feuilly dived under the chair and crawled swiftly away. Enjolras, who actually had no reason to run, since the man didn't recognize him, followed the others anyway. 

As Grantaire had jumped over the bench and tried to run after his friends, he felt his leg give in underneath his weight and he fell to the floor. ‘ _Not again_ ’, he thought as he watched his friends disappear towards the entrance. They had not seen him fall and had clearly forgotten his knee injury. Grantaire couldn’t blame them, since he had forgotten about it too. He tried to scramble up, but before he could, he felt a strong hand take hold of the back of his shirt roughly. Grantaire heard the fabric tear as the man lifted him up and started to drag him outside. Grantaire tried to jump with one leg, but he couldn’t keep up with the man’s pace. So, he was forced to lay weight on his bad leg, causing every other step he made pure agony. 

“Where is Grantaire?” Feuilly huffed. He was the first one to notice their friend’s absence. They were already outside and now looked behind to see, if Grantaire was following them.

“Oh no!” Courfeyrac suddenly gasped. “He could not have run with his bad leg!”

“And we just left him behind!" Combeferre bemoaned. “That is not what friends do!”

“Come! We should hide, if the man comes after us.” Enjolras recommended. The three other boys looked between each other, wondering if they should do as Enjolras told them, or instead rush back inside and try to save Grantaire. “We cannot do anything for Grantaire, if we all get caught.” Enjolras explained and finally managed to get them all to safety. They hid behind the shadows of one of the gateways on the street and settled down to watch.

Grantaire was taken outside. But as he had thought, the man didn't let go of him and instead dragged him forward, towards the police station. Grantaire tried to look around, to see his friends, but they had either disappeared or were hidden well somewhere. The same police officer was there to greet him, when they arrived to the station. He seemed pleased to find Grantaire back, since the last time he had been there, he had caused quite a havoc. Before Grantaire was able to fight back, he was locked inside a cell.

“You shall stay there, until tomorrow you will be transported to a penitentiary to wait for your trial, you sneaky little brat.” The policeman explained his situation and left Grantaire shivering, alone and scared into the dark and damp room.

 

 

“What is our plan?” Combeferre asked as they watched the police station from across the street. They hurriedly hid in the shadows, as the opera house’s doorman came outside, smiling smugly to himself as he walked away. 

“We should have given him a good beating.” Courfeyrac said in disgust, as he watched the man go.

“No unnecessary violence.” Enjolras ordered, keeping his eyes on the door of the station. They had seen the man drag Grantaire inside. At first, they thought of executing a surprise attack against him, but then had decided it would be too risky. So near the police station, the man could have gotten assistance by yelling, and they couldn't have escaped in time, when Grantaire’s leg was in such a bad shape. 

“Have you come up with a plan?” Feuilly now inquired, looking at Enjolras, like he already respected this young boy greatly.

Enjolras was silent for a long while, before humming to himself and then nodding. “We use words.” He then stood up and made his way across the street.

“Words? What? Enjolras!” Combeferre quickly caught up with him and the others soon followed.

Enjolras didn't say another word and only walked confidently inside the police station. He stopped in front of the counter, where people came to file a report from an illicit acts and behavior. He was just tall enough for the policeman to see his blonde hair and big hazel eyes from behind the counter.

“What do you want, boy?” The man sounded surprised to see him.

“I saw you bring my friend in here.” Enjolras explained gracefully. “I would like to know what he is charged of?”

The policeman leaned over the counter to take a better look at him. He noticed his well-made clothes and overall neat appearance, which was missing from the boy they had locked-up. 

“The boy you are referring to sneaked into the opera house without a ticket.” The man finally answered. 

“I have here…” Enjolras put his hand inside his pocket and soon placed five tickets under the man’s nose. “…tickets to the opera and I can assure you, that one of these belongs to the boy, who is now held captive here.” 

The policeman only pushed the tickets back to Enjolras. “We are talking about a trespassing, which happened last week. This boy, together with three others, sneaked backstage and when he was arrested, he assaulted two people to make his escape.”

“Are you confident that this is the same boy?” Enjolras rose to his tiptoes, so he would appear taller and glared at the man.

“I am quite certain he is the same boy.” The policeman stammered. He had never met such a young boy, who managed to bee so persuasive. 

“Quite sure?” Enjolras repeated. “I believe the court will not accept such a feeble testimony. What makes you think he, and the boy you arrested last week, are one and the same?”

“He looks like him. I mean, we did not catch his name and this one is dressed much more nicely, but he still acts like that presumptuous poor kid.” The policeman started to hesitate. He glanced around, as if searching for help, but all the other officers had gone home for the day.

This time Enjolras smiled politely. “I should believe, you have mistaken my friend for another young boy.” 

Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly, who had come inside after him, observed the interaction from the doorway. They watched as the policeman hesitated a while before nodding and taking his keys. He opened the door to the cell section and they could hear a creak of a metal gate opening. 

“You are free to go, boy.” The policeman said and soon came back, leading Grantaire beside him.

Grantaire’s eyes lit up, when he saw his friends standing there. He hopped with one leg to Feuilly, who was nearest to him, and gave him a huge hug. 

The policeman cleared his throat loudly and nodded towards the door, when all of their attentions were turned to him. “You should go now, and avoid to cause any more confusion around the city.”

“The confusion is all your fault!” Grantaire spoke out, but was soon silenced by Feuilly’s hand covering up his mouth.

“Apologies, Mr policeman.” Courfeyrac said quickly and together with Feuilly and Combeferre, he dragged Grantaire outside, before he could cause any more harm to himself with that big mouth of his.

“I am pleased, that we have such sensible men in our police force.” Enjolras said politely and bowed a little before following his friends. He didn't mean what he had said, but thought that staying in good terms with the police, was the most sensible intent, for as long as he had friends such as Grantaire.

As they were outside, the three friends freed Grantaire, who corrected his shirt, which had twisted in the process. “You should have let me say my piece to him, as he…” Grantaire started, but fell silent, when they noticed a man standing in front of them. It was the opera house’s doorkeeper, who was staring down at them with wide eyes.

“You!” The man shouted, making them once again scatter to his left and right. But this time, Courfeyrac made sure the man couldn't take a hold of Grantaire and quickly helped him out of his reach and Combeferre was the one to push the man out of their way, so they could get, at least a little bit more time, to escape.

“Police! They are all here now!” They heard the man shout behind them as he tried to haul himself up.

Courfeyrac did his best to drag Grantaire with him, but since the boy was much taller than him, it was almost impossible to keep both of them standing, let alone running. They stumbled forward until Courfeyrac felt his strength run dry.

“Let me.” Enjolras had emerged beside them, and now ordered for Courfeyrac to keep on going. He squatted down and took Grantaire to his back. Grantaire held on tightly around Enjolras’ neck as they hurried forward. Courfeyrac and Combeferre searched for the best way to escape and hide, while Feuilly secured their back and was ready to chase the policeman away, if needed.

Fortunately, they managed to find a garden nearby, in which no living soul could've seen into from the streets. Enjolras lowered Grantaire to the ground and collapsed next to him, sweaty and gasping for air. 

“How can I ever thank you all?” Grantaire asked, extremely proud of all his friends, for risking their lives for his freedom.

“We did basically nothing. Enjolras here, was the one who talked the policeman around to free you.” Courfeyrac explained and looked towards Enjolras, who was still unable to speak. 

They all looked at Enjolras in respect. Grantaire smiled and then suddenly lunched himself forward to hug Enjolras tightly. The fair-haired boy was surprised, but after a while, he patted Grantaire’s back fondly. He felt a wet kiss on his cheek as Grantaire thanked him before pulling away. 

“I shall one day, offer you the best meal in whole Paris.” Grantaire promised and everyone laughed, knowing full well, it would never happen.


	4. Bitter taste

_1815  
May_

The following day, after the incident at the opera-house, Combeferre got worried, when Grantaire didn't appear at school. He shared his concern with Courfeyrac, who he managed to meet at the end of the school day. Together they went to Feuilly’s workplace, where he was kept busy six days a week, printing paper. Grantaire was known to sometimes visit him there, if he was too sick to go to school, but not too sick to stay in bed for a whole day. But Feuilly hadn’t seen Grantaire either. 

The next place they visited was Enjolras’ house, but neither of them knew how to get inside, or how the household would react, if two kids with shabby clothes emerged to their doorway. So, they waited outside and played a game: which one could get a small rock furthest, by throwing it with their thumbs. 

They had to wait only half an hour, when Enjolras emerged through the gates. Combeferre asked if Grantaire was with him and when they got no for an answer, Courfeyrac explained the situation to him. They had deliberately left Grantaire’s aunt’s house to last, since she didn't like her nephew's friends to hang around there. 

The neighborhood wasn’t as bad as Enjolras had imagined it to be. It was actually quite nice, compared to some of the places he had seen. At least, it looked like many kept the outside of their houses in a good shape and streets were not filled with alcoholics. Courfeyrac was the one to enter a tight staircase and knock on one of the doors on the second floor. The two others followed him in queue. A woman, with pale face, opened the door. She looked much older than she actually was. It wasn’t because of wrinkles, since she hardly had any, but her eyes were like old woman’s: tired and dim. 

“Hello, _Madame_. Is Grantaire home?” Courfeyrac asked and was replied with a long silence, as the woman eyed the three boys warily. 

“He is out.” She finally replied with a surprisingly strong voice, which didn't fit together with her feeble essence. 

“Do you know where he has gone to?” Enjolras asked then, not flinching under the stern gaze she cast to his way. She seemed to measure him with her eyes, wondering where he had come from, with his neat clothes and proud attitude. 

“I do not care what he does, or when he arrives, for as long as he does what I tell him to do.” The woman said with a plain voice. Then she seemed to relent slightly, as she continued: “He did not look well, when he came home last night. The sleep had not made him feel any better in the morning. That is all I can tell you.”

“ _Merci_ , for your time.” Enjolras said and waved for the others to follow him. He felt the woman’s stare on his back, as they retreated back downstairs.

“I wonder where he could have gone to.” Combeferre wondered out loud, as they walked down the street.

“He cannot have gone very far with his bad leg.” Courfeyrac said and the two others agreed. They kept walking in silence, each one of them wondering where they should look next, when they saw a black-haired boy, sitting on the pavement just a little further away from them and looking towards the cloudless sky. 

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac shouted, making the boy look towards them and smile. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked and watched his three friends join him. “I only went back to the opera-house, to look for this.” He lifted the black walking stick, which he had put down to the ground. 

“What if the doorman had seen you?” Combeferre thought it was foolish for Grantaire to do such a thing. “You could have been imprisoned again.”

“The opera-house is closed at this time of the day. I was not able to remember where exactly I had dropped it, but found it alongside the street.” Grantaire explained. “I also wanted to give these back.” He handed a worn-out leather bag to Enjolras.

“It’s my clothes.” He said as he saw what was inside.

“I felt bad for tearing your clothes, so I took them to a tailor, who patched them up for me.” Grantaire explained and looked a little embarrassed.

“It must have cost you. Here, I can pay the amount...” Enjolras started to go through his pockets, but Grantaire stopped him:

“No need. She owed me a favor anyway, so it's all good.”

“What are you doing here, sitting all alone?” Courfeyrac questioned then and looked around, as if he could see what was so interesting about this place, but he saw only dull houses and the dirty street.

“I had to rest for a while.” Grantaire confessed and they noticed only then, how pale he looked. At first, they had thought it was because he had walked for such a long way from the opera-house, but the sweating had only gotten worse and he had turned even more pale as the minutes went by.

“You should see a doctor.” Combeferre said as he examined Grantaire closely.

“I am sure I feel much better tomorrow.” Grantaire dismissed his advice and struggled to his feet. All three of them hurried up to help him. “I’m fine. I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be good as new."

They accompanied Grantaire home, and made sure he didn't fell down the stairs before they all went to their separate ways. 

 

 

Grantaire did emerge to school the following morning, but he didn't pay much attention to the teacher’s words and even got hit by the ruler at one point, for not listening. Courfeyrac walked together with him all the way to home again. Occasionally, he tried to offer his help, but Grantaire insisted he was fine, and that he could manage on his own. 

The day after that, Grantaire was waiting for his friends at the end of _Renard_ -street. Enjolras was the first one to arrive there, but he didn’t sit down with Grantaire or even say a word to him. He just stood there, glaring down at him.

Grantaire squinted his eyes to see Enjolra’s face, since the sun was shining from behind him. “Why do you look so cross?” He asked, when he saw the deep frown on his friend’s face and his clenched jaw.

“Get up.” Enjolras finally said and waved for him to rise.

“Why?” Grantaire looked around. “None of the others have arrived.”

“I am taking you to the doctor.” Enjolras replied, like it was the most obvious thing to do. 

Grantaire suddenly went even paler and seemed to root himself to the ground. “I do not need a doctor…” His tried to sound convincing, but his voice was shaking slightly and as he had expected, he couldn't fool Enjolras.

“Come on.” Enjolras had crouched next to him and helped him get up to his feet. “Here.” He offered Grantaire his walking stick and together they slowly headed towards Enjolras’ neighborhood. 

Grantaire followed Enjolras silently, furiously trying to figure out an excuse to pass the visit to the doctor, but he couldn’t come up with anything convincing. So, soon he was seated to a wooden chair and faced by a familiar doctor, who had visited Enjolras when he had been sick. 

“Mister Enjolras, I am afraid I just do not have the time to treat additional patients…” The doctor tried to find a way to avoid treating a poor looking, clearly infectious boy.

“I cannot see you working, Doctor. If you don’t mind me saying.” Enjolras said sharply, but the doctor still wasn’t convinced. Enjolras sighed and seemed to search the words he should say next. “I believe, you haven’t seen my _mére_ lately, not since I recovered. I am sure, I can find a way for you to get more... acquaintance with her.”

Now he had gotten the doctor’s attention and the man quickly cleared his throat. “Well, that cannot hurt, but of course I shall do anything I can for your friend here, even though my schedule is very tight.”

Grantaire resisted the urge to roll his eyes and say something witty back at the man. It was clear he didn't care one bit, if he was treated or not. For as long as he was able to see Enjolras’ mother, nothing else mattered. 

“Lift your trousers' leg.” The doctor ordered and crouched in front of Grantaire.

Grantaire did as he was told, occasionally flinching in pain, as he slowly rolled the trousers up. Both, the doctor and Enjolras, frowned as they saw his swollen knee.

“Alright… Let’s see.” The doctor mumbled to himself and started to palpate the knee carefully. When his fingers as little as touched the swollen part of the knee, Grantaire almost jumped up from the chair. “I gather that stung a little?”

“More like tormented.” Grantaire spat back angrily.

“What happened to it?” The doctor stood up and rounded his desk, to go through a cabinet behind it.

Grantaire glanced towards Enjolras, who shook his head. “I was in a fight with a group of boys. One of them hit my leg with a stick.”

“Right…” The doctor mumbled again. “Go lay down on the bed over there.” 

Grantaire looked behind him and hopped to the bed. Enjolras helped him lift the injured leg onto it.

“Now, could you help me a little bit here, Enjolras?” The doctor had now turned around, with an enormous needle in his hand. 

Grantaire looked like he was ready to bold out of the room at that very moment, but Enjolras’ hand coming to rest on his chest calmed him down, just enough for him to stay.

“Take a hold of his leg from here and keep it still, would you?” The doctor instructed and Enjolras took hold of Grantaire’s thigh from above the knee. Grantaire tried to lift his head to see what was happening.

“It would be better, if you do not see what I am doing.” The doctor said and Grantaire quickly placed his head back down. He breathed heavily in anticipation. He then felt a hand take hold of his and squeeze tightly.

Enjolras watched, as the doctor placed the needle against the swelling and pushed it inside. Grantaire screamed in pain and tried to squirm his way out of the bed. Enjolras held on tightly to his leg to keep it steady. Grantaire grasped his other hand so tightly, he feared he would be the next one on the bed with broken bones. 

A yellow liquid started to pour out from the needle. A horrible smell filled the room and even Enjolras, who usually didn't mind any stenches, felt the need to gag. 

“Just a little bit more.” The doctor shouted over Grantaire and with his free hand pressed the swollen part painfully, making the rest of the fluid to flow out. Then, he withdrew the needle and bandaged the knee swiftly. “It is done.”

Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s leg and turned to look at his friend, who was breathing heavily and still clutching onto his other hand. Grantaire wiped the tears of pain from his face and finally met Enjolras’ eyes, getting a warm smile from the fair-haired boy. Grantaire smiled back at him.

“Your knee should start healing now. Just remember not to put any weight on it in the next two weeks. I shall give you some opium poppy for the pain. If the swelling comes back, come and see me again.” The doctor instructed and gave them the permission to leave.

Enjolras, once again, helped Grantaire back on his feet and they made their way outside.

“I hate doctors.” Grantaire mumbled as they stepped out to the street. He opened the small pouch, which contained the medicine and smelled it carefully. He then quickly withdrew it away from his face and turned up his nose. “It smells like death.”

Enjolras laughed and let go of him to see, if Grantaire could walk on his own. “Have you smelled death, then?” Enjolras meant it as a harmless joke to get Grantaire smiling, but instead Grantaire’s eyes shot up at him and he looked almost scared. The smile on Enjolras’ face disappeared.

“ _Oui_ …” Grantaire answered slowly. “I have.” He then quickly looked down to the ground and concealed the pouch into his trousers’ pocket.

Enjolras eyed him carefully. He wanted to ask what Grantaire had remembered, but decided against it. He feared the boy would shut himself completely.

They walked together in silence. Grantaire followed Enjolras once again, without thinking where they were going. He only realized, that they were on the street his aunt’s apartment was, when he saw a familiar cat running to rub himself against his leg. Grantaire stopped and stared at Enjolras' back, not wanting to go home yet.

Enjolras seemed sense that he had fallen behind, as he turned around and looked at Grantaire with eyes he couldn't read. 

“You should get some rest.” Enjolras said and looked down at Grantaire’s leg.

At that moment, Grantaire realized how tired he was and nodded without counter argument. Enjolras kept on walking and stopped only in front of Grantaire’s front door, making sure that his friend managed to keep up with his pace. 

“You will be up and running this time tomorrow.” Enjolras tried to lift Grantaire’s spirit, as the other boy looked like he was being dragged back to prison cell.

Grantaire laughed dryly. “No, I will not.” He said but still appreciated Enjolras’ effort. 

And Grantaire had been right. In the end, it took him four days to get out of bed the next time and three more weeks until he was able to walk without Enjolras’ walking stick giving him support. 

 

 

_September_

Enjolras walked the paths of Luxembourg’s garden. The streets were covered with leaves in every color, which rustled under his feet. The autumn had come, which meant Enjolras hadn't seen his friends in weeks. He had been studying and so had everyone else, expect for Feuilly, who in other hand, was working even longer days. Enjolras had come to the park with his mother and his aunt. They hadn’t noticed him departing from their company and seeking solitude among the freshly fallen leaves. It was his first autumn without his father. He remembered, that they used to feed swans on the lake nearby and share more bread and money than usual, among the poor kids in Paris. Those had been rare occasions, since his father had rarely taken Enjolras with him, whenever he visited the center of the Paris.

“Enjolras!” A familiar voice called out to his name and Enjolras turned around to see Combeferre run towards him. “I am glad you are here.” He huffed as he finally reached him.

“Why? Has something happened?” Enjolras looked towards the way Combeferre had ran from, but saw nothing unusual. 

“No, not exactly.” Combeferre took deep breaths to calm his racing heart. “We tried to reach you yesterday, but it seemed you were busy. R’ has been all about the upcoming carnival.”

Enjolras remembered faintly hearing Grantaire talk about it two weeks ago. He had not realised it would take place so soon. “When is it?”

“The day after tomorrow. We decided to meet at the Jean XXIII’s square at five.” Combeferre told about their plans as the two friends started to walk forward.

“I shall join you then.” Enjolras was excited to finally be able to see the carnival Grantaire had told him so much about. As he had grown up, at the far side of the Paris, he had never been able to see the spectacle with his own eyes. Or not that he remembered about it anyway.

“Brilliant!” Combeferre patted Enjolras’ shoulder and encouraged him to walk a little bit faster. Enjolras looked forward and saw why he wanted to hurry: Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Grantaire were waiting for him beside the lake. They were huddled close together down at the riverbed and many by passer didn’t even see them behind the vegetation. As they got closer, Enjolras saw what the three friends were looking at: swans. Both, Combeferre and Enjolras walked closer silently, so they wouldn't scare the magnificent creatures away. The swans were used to people stroll around the lake, of course, but they didn't wish to take the chance. Enjolras hadn’t seen swans in years and it brought fond memories back to his mind. 

“Look, they have seven youngsters. I have never seen so many.” Courfeyrac whispered, as he saw the two of them sneak to their company.

“How an earth has they managed to keep all of them alive?” Grantaire asked as he watched the brood in daze.

“They are good parents. Or they get fed a lot, since they live here.” Feuilly guessed. 

Enjolras wondered, if these were the same swans he and his father used to feed, when he was little. They were all so concentrated on the little swans swimming around, that they missed the male swan flowing closer to them from their right side. Courfeyrac was the first one to notice the large bird and had barely time to dodge its first attack, when it lunged forward. The five boys all scrambled up from the riverbed and three of them got a nasty bruise, from the male swan’s bite. 

“That hurt.” Courfeyrac complained to Enjolras, as he rubbed his hand. He didn't wish to see another swan ever again. 

“He was only defending his children.” Enjolras explained, but it didn’t seem to get Courfeyrac to a better mood. They had fallen behind from the others, as Courfeyrac eyed the male swan bitterly.

“What are you doing here?” An angry voice echoed from ahead of them, as a policeman walked towards their direction. It wasn't the same police they had had the pleasure to meet earlier, but his tone of voice made all the five boys to stay on their toes. 

“Leave at once! Brats like you should not be here.” The man had addressed his words only to Feuilly, Grantaire and Combeferre who walked ahead of them.

This time Enjolras stepped beside his friends and glared at the man in confusion. “This is a public park. Why shouldn’t they be here?” 

“I was not talking to you, little mister.” The policeman said as he looked at Enjolras' clothes. “Poor brats, like them, are not welcome here.”

“Save your breath.” Combeferre said, uninterested. “We are leaving.”

Enjolras watched as his friends walked away without even trying to talk some sense into the man. Hesitantly, he followed them, giving the man one last glare. 

“Why did you not say anything to him?” Enjolras asked once he caught up with his friends.

“What is the point?” Grantaire asked. “Some rich guy has made the rules and does not want kids like us to walk around in their beautiful gardens. No offence.” He quickly added, without needed, since Enjolras didn't get offended.

“Rules are made to be broken, if they are treating people unequally. But at the same time, men should be pursuing towards changing the rules. Otherwise there is no progress.” Enjolras explained. He found out that Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly agreed with him, but Grantaire stayed silent.

 

 

There were balloons, puppet shows, music, people dancing and singing in colorful clothes. It was exactly like Grantaire had described it to be and more. Enjolras found himself just standing in the middle of it all and staring, trying to see everything at once. 

“Here!” Enjolras felt someone take his hand and guide him to the side. “Look what I just found.” It was Grantaire, who had drawn a bottle of wine from underneath his cloak. 

“Where did you…?” Enjolras tried to ask but Grantaire only lifted his index finger over his own lips to silence him.

“I have my ways.” Grantaire replied mysteriously. “But, we are saving it for later.” He hid the bottle back underneath the enormous cape he was wearing.

“Oh, my lady, you are too kind.” Courfeyrac’s voice echoed into their ears. Enjolras turned to look towards it and saw the boy, who was a year younger than him, kiss a fair lady’s hand and bow deeply. The young woman giggled as Courfeyrac flattered her a little more, before quickly joining his friends.

“Courfeyrac, you are too young to chase girls like that.” Grantaire laughed, earning a wicked grin from his friend.

“I guess, you do not care for this then?” Courfeyrac lifted another bottle of alcohol underneath Grantaire’s eyes. 

Grantaire tried to snatch it away from him, but Courfeyrac quickly withdrew it away from his reach. “I shall hold onto this one. I do not trust you with both of the bottles.” Courfeyrac said and turned to look towards the middle of the square, when the music suddenly started even louder. “Let’s go dancing!” He then shouted over it and waved for his friends to follow. 

“So, Courfeyrac is your secret way?” Enjolras asked, a tiny smile over his lips. 

Grantaire glanced towards him, a little ashamed, and suddenly started to drag Enjolras after Courfeyrac to avoid the conversation. “You must dance with us!” 

Grantaire took hold of both of Enjolras’ hands and spun them around a few times. Then he let go and jumped towards Courfeyrac, who was dancing with a different young lady this time. Enjolras swayed around for a moment, before he found his feet. He didn't follow Grantaire and settled to stay at the side to watch his friends dance. 

Grantaire looked like he was having the time of his life. He swirled around in a large circle with at least twenty other people and sometimes danced alone or with someone. Enjolras clapped his hands along with other people around him. He didn't see the way Grantaire sometimes faltered with his steps as his left leg gave in underneath him.

The carnival lasted till late at night. When it became dark, all four boys got tired of dancing and they retreated behind one of the puppet show’s stands, to uncork one of the bottles. Enjolras watched as Grantaire took the first sip and coughed loudly, before passing it around with the others. Enjolras was the last one to get the bottle into his hands and looked at it warily. He had never drank alcohol. Or actually he had, but only a glass of wine during meals. But this wasn’t wine, it was something else and burned his throat as he swallowed the green liquid. He felt tears rise to his eyes and felt like throwing up, as the alcohol went down to his stomach. 

“This is… disgusting.” Enjolras managed to say, as he gave the bottle back to Grantaire.

“Tell me about it.” Grantaire agreed and peaked into the bottle before smelling it. “Could this be absinthe? I have never tasted it. That remind me!” He suddenly shouted, before anyone could answer to his question. “Have I ever told you, that I once met the bell ringer of Notre Dame in a carnival?” Grantaire told enthusiastic.

“No, you cannot have seen him!” Feuilly disagreed with him loudly.

“I sure did!” Grantaire swore. 

“How did you know it was him?” Combeferre asked then. They had all heard a rumor about the bell ringer of Notre Dame, who lived in its tower and never came out to walk among the normal people.

“I saw that hump of his.” Grantaire explained with straight face. “It was enormous. Like another head right here.” He patted his own back, from where his right shoulder blade was. 

Enjolras didn't know if he was telling the truth or just pulling their leg. No one had ever seen the bell ringer. At least Grantaire seemed to believe the story himself. 

As Enjolras took a second gulp from the bottle, he felt the ground starting to turn. It was an odd feeling, which he didn’t care for much. He felt like he lost the control of the world around him. He looked between his friends, all their faces blurry and stretching oddly. Combeferre’s mouth suddenly became much wider and it soon stretched all the way across his face. Feuilly’s left eye seemed to wonder somewhere on his forehead, Grantaire’s nose had widened twice it’s size and Courfeyrac… Courfeyrac had passed out.

Enjolras felt something being placed on his hand and he watched down to see the bottle there again. He had not even noticed it being taken away from him. Reluctantly, he took another sip and quickly gave it again to Grantaire, who lifted it up to his lips and then dropped it to the ground. The sound of shattering glass seemed to echo through the whole Paris. Grantaire laughed and Combeferre joined him. They didn’t seem to be able to stop. Feuilly stood up and stared ahead of himself for a moment, before walking away without another word. Enjolras wanted to ask him where he was going, but only a muffled sound come out of his mouth. A sound of someone throwing up, made Enjolras look towards his remaining friends again and to see Combeferre crouched against the wall next to them. 

“We should go.” Grantaire said then. He had suddenly turned solemn and crawled to Courfeyrac’s sleeping body. “Help me with him.” He said, as he tried to lift his friend up, but a laughing fit made his efforts useless. 

Enjolras joined him and together they managed to get Courfeyrac to his feet. Their youngest friend seemed to wake up, just so he was able to carry his own weight, at least a little bit. They started to make their way towards Grantaire’s aunt’s apartment. Combeferre followed them solemnly. Then everything went black.

 

 

Enjolras came to hours later. He was standing in the middle of the road, leading towards home. The sun was already rising and the streets were empty. He had to shield his eyes from the bright beams of the sun, as he made his way towards his house. He had no idea where his friends had ended up to and no matter how hard he tried to remember what had happened after they left the carnival, he couldn't remember. 

The gates were open, as he walked to their court. It was unusual and if Enjolras’ head hadn't been killing him, he would’ve probably noticed it, but right at that moment, all he wanted to do was to get to his bed and sleep. 

“Enjolras!” A loud scream, made him wince in pain as he opened the front door. His mother rushed to him and took hold of his shoulders, crouching to his level, so she could look him in the eye. “Where an earth have you been?” She demanded, but the worried look soon turned to horror. “And drunk as a tramp! Tadeo, look at him!” His mother stepped away from him and her place was replaced by his uncle. 

“I told you, he’s spending too much time with the wrong people. That kid hanging in here last summer should have been enough to prove so. I hope you see that now.” Tadeo spoke, ignoring Enjolras’ attempts to speak for himself. 

There was a short silence. Enjolras didn't see his mother nodding from the corner of his eye and almost lost his balance as his uncle suddenly took hold of the collar of his jacket and started to drag him upstairs. Tadeo tossed him into his room and closed the door behind them. Enjolras had just enough time to turn around, when the tall man took hold of his jacket once more, and forced him to lean forward. Then he lifted the belt he had took off without Enjolras noticing, and hit his back and butt at least ten times as hard as he could. At the first strike, Enjolras screamed in pain and surprise, but after that he steeled himself, forcing the screams to stay down. So, he just stood there, taking the beating obediently. When Tadeo was done, he forced Enjolras to stand and then pushed his wife's nephew away from him, towards the bed.

“Sleep it off.” He ordered and looked at Enjolras in disgust. “I hope you have learned your lesson and never do this kind of a thing again. Is that clear?” 

Enjolras sat down slowly, wincing when he felt the pain hit him again. He swallowed down the lump from his throat and when he was sure his voice wouldn't break, he spoke up: “ _Oui_ , uncle Tadeo.” 

“Good.” Tadeo nodded in satisfaction before leaving.

Enjolras took off his clothes and crawled between the sheets. He then heard the door being opened and judged by the steps, he knew it was Shayla.

“Mister Enjolras?” She asked from the side of his bed, trying to see if he was awake or not. Enjolras turned his head slightly towards her. Shayla smiled fondly at him. She was carrying a tray of food and placed it to the side table. “I brought you something to eat. Please, do not tell your mother, she asked me not to bring you anything, but I gathered you have not eaten anything since last night, so you must be hungry.”

Enjolras was far from hungry. Even the smell of food made him nauseous, but still he smiled weakly and thanked her. Shayla curtsied and hurried to the door. She glanced towards Enjolras one last time, before closing the door behind her. Enjolras looked at the tray for a while before burying his head under the duvet.


	5. What it means to be a Parisian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is a little bit shorter than the others, but I make it up to you with the next chapter.

_1818_

_August_

Grantaire waited at the steps of Notre Dame for his friends. The sky was clear and the sun warmed his face. He had discarded his vest early in the morning, in hope of cooling down, but at that moment any piece of garment was enough to break a sweat. He had seen dark clouds on the horizon, as he had crossed the Seine. A thunder storm was slowly approaching Paris and Grantaire welcomed it gladly. It would make the weather much more bearable.

“R, catch it!” Courfeyrac’s cheerful voice made Grantaire look towards the square. His friends had returned from getting them food and Courfeyrac now tossed a piece of bread towards him. 

Grantaire had to lean forward and stretch his arms as long as he was able, to prevent the bread from falling to his feet. 

“You bastard!” He shouted to his friend, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face, which diminish the anger he wished to express. “You almost ruined my supper.”

“I knew you could catch it.” Courfeyrac only laughed. As he stood next to Combeferre, Feuilly and Enjolras, it was clear that he was the youngest and thus the shortest of them all. Even Enjolras, who had been almost head shorter than Feuilly, had grown during the summer so much, that he was now slightly taller than Grantaire. Even the boyish roundness had faded from his features, but he still looked fairly young.

“I was thinking, while you were away…” Grantaire started, as his friends had sat down. “…what would you think, if we would visit the inside of the church?”

“That is a brilliant idea!” Courfeyrac got enthusiastic right away. “Has anyone been inside before?”

“I have visited it a few times before with _mére_.” Enjolras looked towards the old church, like it was the most boring thing in the world. 

“I have never been able to get inside.” Feuilly said. “In matter of fact, I’ve never even thought about visiting it before.”

“Then we must see it!” Grantaire declared vigorously and stood up. His half-eaten bread forgotten. “We cannot call ourselves Parisians, if we have never seen the inside of Notre Dame.” 

So, the decision was made and all the five boys sneaked inside, like it was forbidden. Grantaire was pleased to find the inside of the church chill. The sun was not able to shine inside the old building throughout the whole day and the stone walls kept the warmth outside. The church looked much smaller from the inside. In his imagination, Grantaire had thought it would reach out even higher, but it was still massive and somehow threatening, with its dark corners the candle lights cast.

As they walked further inside, Grantaire spotted a wooden door at their left. He remembered the bell tower standing about that location, could it lead to the top? 

“Enjolras.” Grantaire whispered to the boy, who stood closest to him. The others had advanced between the line of benches and had not noticed their two friends staying behind. “Come here.” Grantaire ushered Enjolras to follow him. They walked to the door and Grantaire tried to pull it open, but it didn't budge.

“Where does it lead?” Enjolras asked, a deep frown on his face for not knowing why Grantaire wanted to get to the other side.

“This must be a way to the bell tower.” Grantaire explained and looked up, as if he could already see the stairs that would lead to the top. “The fact that it is locked, makes it even more certain.”

“Well, we cannot get in.” Enjolras shrugged, not interested and was about to turn around and join the others, when Grantaire stopped him:

“Do you have a brooch or something?” 

“A brooch?” Enjolras asked in confusion. 

“To pick the lock.” Grantaire clarified his intentions. 

“No, I do not.” Enjolras answered. “I have never needed one to pry open doors.”

“You do not know how to pick a lock?” Grantaire looked surprised, but he soon realized that maybe Enjolras had never needed to learn such a skill. He then quieted down to think. “I believe this would do…” He then muttered and dig a huge needle from his pocket.

“Is that…?” Enjolras looked at the sharp object in disgust, as he recognized where it was used for.

“It is the needle the doctor struck to my knee.” Grantaire told him.

“And you have kept if all these years for… what exactly?” Enjolras couldn't understand why Grantaire would carry such a thing in his pocket.

“It is a reminder, for not to get hit by a walking stick ever again. I have been practicing and if anyone would ever challenge me to a duel of walking sticks, I would most certainly win.” Grantaire smiled widely.

Enjolras thought he was being silly, no one would challenge another to a fight, with walking sticks as weapons. 

“Take this…” Grantaire offered the needle to Enjolras, who just stared at it with wide eyes. “Take it!” He waved the needle under his nose until Enjolras, reluctantly, took it. Grantaire looked around, until he found what he had been looking for: a rusted nail on the floor. “These should do the trick.”

Grantaire placed the nail to Enjolras' hand and crouched in front of the door. “Put the needle in first.” He explained and Enjolras crouched next to him to do as he was told. “If you lift it, you can feel a block there. Press it upwards and then with the nail, do the same to the bottom and then turn…” 

A click echoed through the large hall and the wooden door creaked open. 

“You did it! It is no harder than that.” Grantaire quickly got up to his feet and opened the door completely. “Every self-respecting French-boy, should always have something with him to pick a lock with.”

Enjolras frowned at him. He had never heard anyone say that before.

“What are you doing?” Combeferre asked, as the three boys returned to their company. When Grantaire looked towards their friend, Enjolras slipped the needle and nail into his pocket.

“We are going to meet the bell ringer of Notre Dame.” Grantaire said with so much enigma in his voice, that Courfeyrac looked almost frightened.

Enjolras was the first one to step inside and the others quickly followed him. Sure enough, a staircase made of stone, circled upwards. They walked carefully towards the top, waiting for something to happen after every step they took, but they were only faced with the same kind of silence, which lingered inside the whole church, like there was no living soul inside. 

When they reached the top, they were faced with a line of bells, all much bigger than any of them. Grantaire looked around in amazement. He wondered what the bells would sound like, if they would ring them while they were there. He reached out to touch one of the bells, which looked biggest of them all. The cold surface felt smooth against his skin and he laughed in delight. The sound echoed through the tower from the bells.

“Look at this view!” Feuilly had walked straight to the edge of the tower and was gazing down from the railing. 

His friends joined him and all of their breaths were taken away by the sight of Paris, opening up in front of them. They could see all the way to Seine. The people strolling around on the square of Jean XXIII, looked like small dots from the heights they were at. The dark clouds now covered up the sun, casting a shadow over the city. It didn't bother them, in fact, it made the scene even more exquisite. 

“I am fairly certain I can see your house, Enjolras.” Grantaire said in delight. If he leaned far enough and looked between the certain line of buildings, he was certain it was Enjolras' rooftop he saw.

But Enjolras didn't have time to react, when a stern and grave voice reached their ears: “What are you doing here? Get out at once!”

The five boys all turned around and saw a man in a dark cloak coming closer to them, from behind the bells. The voice itself would probably not have scared them as much, but a loud roar of the thunder at the same instant and the sudden darkness that cast over the tower, made them all rush back towards the staircase and the safety of the exit.

Feuilly was the first one to reach the outside of the church and was soon followed by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Grantaire, who wasn't able to run as fast as his friends, saw them disappear through the door and into the daylight. He glanced behind towards the staircase, to see how far Enjolras had fallen behind, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. It made Grantaire stop to his tracks. His heart was pounding fiercely in his chest, from the scare the hunchback bell-ringer had caused them. The bounding made it hard for him to concentrate on listening, as he tried to hear if he could make out any sounds coming from the tower, but there was nothing but silence. Could the bell-ringer have captured Enjolras? Or had he been pushed over the side and into his death? All kinds of thoughts crossed Grantaire’s mind and made shivers go down his spine. After a moment of hesitation, Grantaire took a step up again, to go and see if his friend needed his help. Enjolras had helped him once and now he would pay his debt. 

 

 

Enjolras had startled the sound at first, just like the others, but when his friends had seen a hunchback man with a dark cloak covering his features, Enjolras saw an old man with a stern, but a kind face under the hood. He had thought of calling after the others and tell them to wait, but they had already disappeared down the stairs, fast as they were. 

“You do not wish to follow them?” The old man had now walked closer from behind the shadows of the bells and to the dim daylight. Enjolras recognized the man to be the archdeacon of Notre Dame. He had met the man two or three times before with his mother. 

“I am not afraid of an archdeacon.” Enjolras explained, making the man smile. 

“So, you recognized me then.” The archdeacon nodded. “It is mister Enjolras, is it not?” And when Enjolras nodded, he continued: “I do not know where the story of a hunchback bell ringer has begun from, but I sometimes think it is good to keep the story alive, if for nothing else, but the safety of the bells.”

“In other words: you sometimes like to scare nosy boys, like us, to keep them away?” Enjolras now smiled back to the man, glad he had not fallen for his trap.

“Exactly.” The archdeacon nodded. “I wish you do not tell anyone about this. The bells are valuable and essential to the cathedral. I do not wish for anyone to sneak up in here and do them harm.”

“Very well, I understand.” Enjolras bowed a little to the man. “I must go then, before my friends come for my rescue.”

“They would do that for you?” The archbishop asked and when Enjolras didn't seem to understand why he would ask such a thing, he continued: “It is important to have friends like that, who would define even death to save one another."

Enjolras nodded absentmindedly. He thought the archbishop exaggerated the situation quite dearly, when this had nothing to do with life and death, only a story told to children before bedtime and which would go around to grow up to something bigger. He didn't see how fortunate he was to have such friends, when they were only willing to face their fears, instead of death, for his sake. 

As Enjolras was half way down the stairs, he almost ran into Grantaire.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cried out in relief and threw himself forward to hug him tightly. “I thought we had lost you.”

“I only stayed behind to talk to him.” Enjolras explained his stalling.

“You talked to the hunchback?” Grantaire pulled away so he could watch Enjolras in the eyes. “Was it really him?”

“Maybe, I didn't ask.” Enjolras replied, with a clever smile playing on his face. "He stayed in the shadows, so I was not able to see him properly." Grantaire had always believed the bell-ringer to be true and he didn't wish to kill that belief for him.

“Grantaire? Enjolras?” Their friends’ voices echoed from down the stairs. 

“We are okay!” Grantaire shouted for an answer and they hurried down to join them. “Enjolras stayed behind to face the hunchback, as the rest of us ran away like cowards.”

“You are truly fearless, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac said, adorenes in his voice. All three others agreed with him, making Enjolras a little ashamed, but he didn't wish to give away the archbishops’ secret. Not even to his friends. Maybe someday, he would share their conversation with them. 

The sky opened up, when they were walking half way over the bridge of Seine. At first, they tried to run towards any shelter they could find, but after only few seconds, their clothes were so wet, it didn't matter if they stayed in the rain or not. So, instead of a shelter, they raced each other: who was the first one to get down to the dock and dive into the water. Enjolras, who hesitated the idea at first, was the last one to jump in. He had not swam in the river since he had gotten sick, after swimming there with Grantaire three years ago. This time, however, he didn't get any disease and his mother and uncle Tadeo had no clue he had been swimming, once he got back home.


	6. To the darkness of the Seine

_1819_

_October_

“Are they…?” Grantaire’s words died down, as he watched in awe the men and women passing them by. 

“Going to the masquerade?” Enjolras finished his question. “ _Oui_ , they are.” 

The answer was obvious, since all the people were wearing masks and glamorous clothing. Enjolras noticed two of them, a couple, look at their way and stare at him through the eye-holes of their masks. They probably recognized him and wondered what he was doing with a kid like Grantaire. 

“That reminds me…” Enjolras stood up and turned his gaze away from the people. “…I myself, should be preparing for it.”

“You are going?” Grantaire still looked fondly after the people.

“ _Mére_ wishes me to be there.” Enjolras explained. He didn't feel the need to visit such a futile event, but he wished to keep his mother happy. Enjolras turned to leave, but stopped, when he realized Grantaire remained sitting. “You do not wish to company me?” 

“To your house?” Grantaire frowned at him, unconsciously glancing at his left leg.

“They should be in the reception by now. So, there is no harm for you to join me.” Enjolras was referring to his mother and her new husband, the doctor, who had treated him and Grantaire’s knee four years back.

Grantaire seemed to ponder for a moment longer, before standing up and following Enjolras.

Four years ago, Grantaire had last walked through those gates. He looked around and marveled how nothing had changed: the yard still looked the same with its fountain of three horses and the house stood behind it as magnificent as he remembered it to be. Although, Grantaire was sure, one of the horses hadn't missed a leg the last time he had been there. 

Enjolras asked for Grantaire to wait near the wall, out of sight, from anyone who could open the front door for him. Enjolras wasn't sure if their butler had a night off, like he usually had when the family was out. Sometimes, the man insisted on staying at the house and Enjolras didn't wish for him to see Grantaire. When he opened the door, he waited a moment for the butler to emerge, but he did not. So, Enjolras called Grantaire to come in and they headed towards his room. Grantaire admired the paintings he saw on the corridors. He didn't remember any of them, since the only time he had walked through the halls, it had been dark and he had been terrified.

Enjolras’ clothing, for the masquerade, had been laid down to his bed. As he began to look through them, Grantaire paced around the room. He had expected to see different furniture and decorations, but he remembered all of them: the small painting above Enjolras’ bed, the flower vase near the window, where he had climbed up many times and the mask Enjolras had let him try on, just so he could have felt what it was like to wear one. Grantaire picked it up and examined it closely. He remembered the mask being bigger than it was now. It felt like a lifetime ago, but Grantaire remembered it all like it had happened only yesterday.

Enjolras had changed his clothes while Grantaire had been busy looking around. When he put on the jacket, he lifted his gaze to see Grantaire holding his old mask. “Put it on.” He said and Grantaire turned to look at him, as if he had been caught of handling something he shouldn’t have. “I told you, you can borrow it, remember?”

Grantaire looked Enjolras’ up and down. He was wearing a golden and white costume with shining gems at its sleeves and hem. It made Enjolras look like a member of a royal family. Grantaire quickly turned his gaze away, back to the mask and nodded. “I do remember.” He had thought that Enjolras was the one not to remember, but he had, and it made Grantaire happy.

“Good.” Enjolras turned towards his closet and started to look through his clothing. “I think this should do.” He said, once he found what he had been looking for and turned around.

Grantaire, who had been busy eyeing the back of Enjolras’ costume now looked up to see Enjolras holding a blue costume with black decorations in his hands.

“I used this two years ago, but it doesn't fit me anymore.” Enjolras said and brought the clothing in front of Grantaire, as if to see how it would fit on him.

“You mean to give it to me?” Grantaire asked in surprise.

“What? You wished to go to the masquerade wearing your old clothes?” Enjolras frowned and stepped pass him to place the costume on his bed. 

“I did not…” Grantaire tried to say, but his words died down under Enjolras’:

“Try it on. I shall go and search for my mask. Shayla, must have forgotten to bring it up here.” Enjolras exited the room, leaving Grantaire alone, staring after him in awe. He then quickly took off his old clothes and put the newer ones on. The costume smelled like Enjolras and it squeezed Grantaire from some parts, such as stomach and thighs, but otherwise it fit perfectly. 

A thought occurred to Grantaire and he waited anxiously for Enjolras to return. “Did you invite the others?” He asked, looking at his own reflection from the mirror that hang on Enjolras’ wall. Grantaire hadn't become good looking over the years. As he gazed himself from a mirror, he thought he was truly ugly. His eyes looked way too big compared to his head and his lips were thin, even for a man. His hair was sticking to every direction and no matter what he did to them, they wouldn't settle. Enjolras had also a curly and thick hair, but it landed gracefully across his face and shone brightly in sunlight. Grantaire’s aunt had tried to keep his hair short but it grew so fast, that it was hopeless.

“I did not.” Enjolras answered and came to stand beside Grantaire, putting his own mask, which was also golden and white, to his face, trying it on. 

Grantaire’s stomach clenched in delight.

“They would not have wanted to come. Especially Feuilly. You know what he thinks of these sort of events.” Enjolras reasoned his decision. “Besides, I would not have any more costumes or masks for them either and I made a promise to take you to masquerade.”

Grantaire felt a lump rise to his throat, and he swallowed it down as he nodded to Enjolras. He should’ve known Enjolras had only wanted to keep his promise, not because he liked Grantaire’s company.

 

 

Grantaire should’ve had an invitation, but they were not asked at the entrance. The man, welcoming the guests inside, only bowed slightly and waved for them to proceed. Their clothing said it all: wealthy and influential. Grantaire looked around the mass of people, their beautiful clothes and masks and felt the music echoing through the large building. He headed towards it without thinking.

Enjolras, who had been walking behind Grantaire, soon realized he hadn't kept up with his pace. He saw a glimpse of his friend as he disappeared behind a group of people. He tried to push pass the celebrators blocking his way, to follow him, but once he reached the space he had last seen part of the blue and black costume, Grantaire was gone.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras shouted and looked around, but didn’t saw him anywhere. “Grantaire!” He shouted again, but this time, when he turned around, he was faced by his mother, staring at him suspiciously.

“Who are you yelling at, Enjolras?” She asked and looked around to see if anyone had responded to her son’s calling.

“Only an old friend of mine.” Enjolras replied quickly. “I thought I saw him there only a minute ago.”

“And who is this friend?” She wasn't going to let it go, it seemed.

“The son of lord and lady Beaumont. Gratien. You do remember him?” Enjolras didn't even blink an eye, as he lied to his mother. Gratien was the closest of his late friends to rhyme with Grantaire. 

“Gratien? _Oui_ , of course I do. I am glad to hear you are familiarizing with your old friends.” His mother smiled widely and then waved for him to follow. “My sister and her husband are waiting for us over here.”

Enjolras took one last look around the hall before following her. He hoped Grantaire wouldn't raise a havoc by himself. 

“Enjolras…” His mother turned her head slightly to speak with him as he followed her. “…it is a high time for you to gather your courage and ask one of the ladies to dance with you.”

Enjolras resisted the urge to sigh. “I have told you, _mère_ , many times, that I do not wish to dance.”

“ _Oui_ , but your future does not care, if you wish to dance or not.” She said sternly. “I do realize, you are far too young to get married, but if you do not capture one of the beautiful ladies’ hearts soon, the good ones will be taken, before you finally decide to ask one of them to dance.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but his mother lifted her hand to silence him as they had reached their destination. He joined his aunt and her husband uncle Tadeo, who were gathered around a large table near the dance floor. He sat aside from them, only half listening to their boring conversation about who had married whom and what they were wearing today or in any other larger event. 

Enjolras spotted a group of men standing not so far away from them, and inched slightly closer, so he could hear their conversation. One of the oldest men, Enjolras recognized to be the sergeant of national guardsmen and the other, he was sure, was the policeman who he had persuaded to release Grantaire. They were talking about the revolution of four years back and Enjolras spent a long while listening to their conversation. He disagreed with almost everything they shared of the chain of effects, which had lead to the revolution, but their talk about battle-plans and the number of regiments, fed Enjolras' interest. While he listened, Enjolras searched the crowd, to see if he could spot Grantaire anywhere among the people. Most of the time, he kept his gaze at the dance floor, suspecting that he would most likely find his friend there. He also thought Grantaire would be easy to spot, since he doubted he knew any society dances. It was then, when Enjolras' eyes saw a young girl sitting not so far away from him. She was eyeing him up and down, smiling sweetly and when she saw him looking at her, she quickly looked down to her feet and blushed, giggling to herself. Enjolras frowned at her and paid the girl no more attention.

“Can I have this dance?” Enjolras recognized the voice immediately and turned to see Grantaire standing at his left, but he hadn't addressed his words to him, but to a fair-haired lady sitting next to Enjolras, who he hadn't even noticed. Grantaire was bowing slightly and had stretched out his hand for the girl to take, like a proper gentleman. Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh dryly and stare at his friend in disbelief. He saw Grantaire’s eyes stare back at him, a hint of a smile glimmering in them. Enjolras had thought Grantaire wasn't interested of that sort of thing.

The girl laughed and blushed, before nodding and taking Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire straightened himself and as they passed Enjolras, he nodded towards the dance floor. Enjolras frowned at him, not quite sure why Grantaire would want him to follow them. It would’ve looked odd for him to follow a couple alone to the dance floor. So, Enjolras stayed seated and followed Grantaire’s back with his gaze as they parted, when his eyes landed again to the young lady, who had smiled to him before. She, again, looked away blushing, but this time she also looked back and faced his gaze. Enjolras glanced towards Grantaire’s retreating back before standing up and with his most polite voice and smile: he asked the girl to a dance. She accepted his request right away and Enjolras escorted her to the dance floor. He could feel his mother’s eyes on him as he walked and knew, that she was pleased to see him with this young girl. 

The music, that was currently, playing was waltz. It didn't surprise Enjolras, since it was probably the only dance Grantaire knew. But he had no idea how good Grantaire actually was dancing waltz and his jaw almost dropped, when he saw Grantaire swing around with the fair-haired girl. They made the dance look easy and smooth, making all the other couples on the floor look like galoots. But Enjolras wasn’t afraid of looking clumsy, so he took a proper dancing position with the girl and joined the others. Once in a while, Enjolras was able to spot Grantaire, usually not far from them, gliding around and smiling towards him. When the song ended, Enjolras took a step back and bowed deeply to his dancepartner. He escorted her back to her seat and left her sitting there without a word.

Enjolras had seen Grantaire head towards the table, where all the food and drinks were. Grantaire glanced at him, as he came to stand by his side, acknowledging his presence. 

“You did not tell me free wine is served here.” Grantaire lifted a glass for him to see and drank it thirstily. 

“Slipped my mind.” Enjolras said, not really caring for the wine. “How did you learn how to dance?” He inquired.

“I have read a few books.” Grantaire admitted with a sly smile on his face and Enjolras stared at him in amaze. He had no idea anyone could learn how to dance from books alone. “Do not look at me like that. Many dances, not quite this fancy, are being held within Paris. I have participated in them a few times.”

“And here I was, thinking you were a natural talent.” Enjolras smiled to his glass of water, as he saw Grantaire’s horrified expression.

“I am!” Grantaire said, offended. “You should see me dance Turkish dances.” 

“What is that like?” Enjolras had no idea where Grantaire had come up with a Turkish dance. 

“Enjolras, why don't you introduce me to your friend?” Enjolras almost startled his mother's voice near his ear. 

“Of course, _mère_.” He obligated and hold his hand out towards Grantaire. “This is Grantaire… ummm…” His mind kept on repeating his visualization of Turkish dances, but he couldn't come up with a lie of who Grantaire was. “…a ballet dancer from Turkey.” He could see Grantaire’s eyes stare at him from behind his mask.

“Nice to finally meet you, madam.” Grantaire recovered quickly and took Enjolras’ mother’s hand, bowing deeply. “Enjolras has talked a lot about you. I am Grantaire.”

“A ballet dancer from Turkey?” Enjorlas’ mother asked and both of the boys were sure she had now recognized Grantaire to be the same boy, who had sneaked inside her house four years back. “How intriguing. I did not know ballet was danced in Turkey as well. But your France is so good and your name…”

“My mother is French.” Grantaire quickly interrupted her. “That is why… I speak France so fluently.” 

“Can you say something in Turkish for me?” Enjolras heard his mother ask and tried fiercely to find a way out of this nightmare.

“ _Onu seviyorum_.” Grantaire said in some foreign language, which Enjolras didn't know what it was.

“Sounds beautiful. What does it mean?” His mother inquired. 

“That is a secret. I am sure, one day, you may understand it.” Grantaire said, still smiling widely.

“Tell me, are you married?” Enjolras had no idea why his mother was so interested in Grantaire.

“I am not, madam, at least not yet.” Grantaire looked calm to outside, but Enjolras spotted some small signals, which told him that his friend was actually quite nervous, or even scared and he could not blame him. Grantaire’s hand was holding the fragile wine glass so hard, Enjolras feared he would break it and he often licked his lips nervously. 

“But I am sure you have no problem of picking a woman of your preferences. You danced so beautifully back there. I wish you could teach Enjolras how to dance like that.” Enjolras felt his mother side-glance towards him and he started to feel unsteady.

“Excuse me.” He said and hurried off, needing to catch some fresh air. Unfortunately, the entrance was so full of people, Enjolras didn't even want to try and walk pass them. He saw the stairs to the upper floor being free and most likely the whole floor would be empty, since all the servings were downstairs. So, Enjolras made his way upstairs. He was faced with an empty hallway and in the end of it, an open window. He hurried to it and stuck his head out, taking his mask off at the same time and breathed in the fresh air, like his life depended on it.

“Enjolras?” He turned around to see Grantaire standing only few feet away from him, eyeing him worriedly. He had lifted his mask on tp his forehead. “Are you alright?”

“ _Oui_ , I just needed to get some fresh air.” Enjolras quickly turned away again, concentrating on breathing.

“Your mother was worried about you. She was about to follow you herself, but I told her I could do it.” Grantaire said. “Here, drink this.”

Enjolras saw a full glass of wine emerge to the corner of his eye. He accepted it without a word and took a long gulp from it. He leaned against the windowsill with his back and watched Grantaire hop on top of an expensive looking bureau with his own glass of wine. 

“Where did you learn to speak Turkish?” Enjolras asked then, taking another sip from his glass.

Grantaire turned to look at him and laughed dryly. “A friend of mine, back when I still lived with my parents, spoke Turkish. He taught me a few sentences. His mother was from Turkey.”

“So, you did spoke Turkish? What did you say?” Enjolras was surprised to hear that. Without this incident, Enjolras would’ve probably never learned that Grantaire could speak Turkish.

Grantaire looked down at his drink, his smile fading a little. “It was nothing important. Just some… gibberish.”

“Oh…” Enjolras nodded in disappointment. He pushed himself off from the window and came to sit beside Grantaire on the bureau. “I apologize for my _mère_.”

“No need to. It is only polite to introduce people with each other.” Grantaire drank the last of his wine quickly. Enjolras had started to notice how nervous his friend sometimes was around him. He didn't know why or what to do with it. He felt like bringing up the subject, wouldn't ease the matter.

“I did not mean only this day.” Enjolras explained and looked at Grantaire apologetic. “I remember never actually apologizing, for what my _mère_ did to you.”

"You did apologize." Grantaire smiled shortly, now glaring at his empty glass. “Besides, that was not your fault. Unlike what happened tonight. A Turkish ballet dancer?” He then asked and both of them started to laugh. 

“I did not even know, if she has been in Turkey or not.” Enjolras confessed between the laughs, making them laugh even harder. It died down soon and they both fell to a comfortable silence.

“ _Merci_ , Enjolras.” Grantaire was the one to break the silence and he looked up to his friend.

“For what?” Enjolras turned to meet his gaze.

“For bringing me here. I… cannot even remember a time I had so much fun.” Grantaire explained and Enjolras saw, that he truly meant it. 

“I made you a promise. Besides, it would have been boring without you.” Enjolras reached out to place his hand against the back of Grantaire’s.

Grantaire looked down at theirs joined hands and then back up to Enjolras’ eyes, those deep, beautiful hazel eyes. He didn't even remember a time he had been so close to them. His eyes lowered to Enjolras' mouth. It would’ve taken only few inches to press lips against lips. Slowly, without even thinking, Grantaire leaned forward.

“Enjolras?” Enjolras turned his head towards the sound and Grantaire managed to stop himself, just before his lips would’ve touched the skin of his cheek. Enjolras had withdrew his hand away from Grantaire’s and now glided down from the bureau, so Grantaire was able to see his mother standing on top of the staircase. 

“I have something to speak with you.” Enjolras’ mother said, as she walked closer.

Grantaire jumped down to the floor as well and stood there awkwardly, not knowing if she wished him to leave or stay.

“As you took the daughter of _Monsieur_ Deniaud dancing, I began to realize truly, just how old you already are.” She didn't seem to mind Grantaire’s presence, so he stayed put, eyeing their conversation from aside. “Then, I became aware of just how inappropriate it is for you to have a woman as your servant at your age. So, I talked with my husband and we decided that our butler will take care of all your needs, until we find someone to replace Shayla.”

For a moment, Enjolras couldn't do anything else, but to stare at his mother. “But… Shayla will stay in our service, will she not?”

“Oh, but Enjolras. She is a nanny. I should have let her go years ago, but she was so fond of you, I thought it would do no harm. I give it to your commission to fire her.” Enjolras didn't reply. Her eyes then found Grantaire over Enjolras’ shoulder. A frown appeared between her eyebrows, the gesture Enjolras had clearly inherited from her. “You look familiar.” She then said, as if she had seen Grantaire for the first time.

Only then, Grantaire remembered he wasn’t wearing his mask anymore and he quickly withdrew it from the top of his head to cover his face again. He was certain, Enjolras’ mother had recognised him.

“Oh, you are the Turkish boy.” She said, to Grantaire’s surprise. “I apologize, I did not recognize you without the mask. I shall join my husband now. I wish to see you downstairs soon, Enjolras.” She gave her son an odd look before turning and heading down the stairs. 

Enjolras just stood there, his back still on Grantaire. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, carefully stepping closer. 

“I…” Enjolras didn't know what to think or feel. Shayla had taken care of him since he was a baby and now she was tossed aside because he had become too old. “We should go.” He finally turned around to face Grantaire, who was sure he saw a hint of sadness behind Enjolras’ eyes. “Before _mère_ and her husband returns home.”

“Okay.” Grantaire nodded, wondering, if Enjolras had noticed his intention before. He hoped not, but feared otherwise.

They followed Enjolras’ mother’s trail to the center of the party. “Wait!” Grantaire called after Enjolras, who had already started to make his way towards the entrance. Enjolras turned around to see Grantaire disappear to the great hall again.

Grantaire headed to the table, where the wine had been. He was pleased to find many filled glasses there and quickly downed one. He needed that, after what had just happened. He was about to leave, but suddenly stopped. He looked back at the table, and after a moment of hesitation, he took two glasses with him.

“Here, I brought you one.” Grantaire offered the other glass to Enjolras, once he found him again.

Enjolras gazed down at the glass, looking almost disgusted. “No, thank you. I have had enough.”

Grantaire only shrugged and drank both of the glasses quickly before following Enjolras out. 

During their way to Enjolras’ house, Grantaire babbled on about nothing and everything, often laughing to something Enjolras couldn't understand. His friend walked unsteadily, often taking support from Enjolras' shoulder. 

“Why do you look so sad, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked at one point and when Enjolras didn’t answer, he started to speculate: “Is it because of your maid… what was her name? Shayna?” 

“No.” Enjolras snapped then and to his relief, Grantaire changed the subject: starting to talk something about his father always scolding him for being stupid. Enjolras found himself agreeing at the moment.

 

 

“How am I supposed to go back to the old, boring dances of the poor people again?” Grantaire had stumbled to lay on Enjolras’ bed as they had walked inside his room. He had taken off his mask and was now eyeing it nostalgically. 

Enjolras didn't answer and only changed his clothes silently. He didn't see Grantaire’s eyes darting towards him once in a while. 

“Are you quite done?” Enjolras finally opened his mouth, when he had put on his ordinary clothing. Grantaire was still laying on his back, holding the mask towards the ceiling, like it was some kind of a holy object. 

“What?” He asked, confused, still looking like he wasn’t going to budge on anywhere.

“I would like to get some sleep.” Enjolras walked to his friend and lightly kicked his leg with his knee to get some sense into him.

“Stop kicking me, Enjolras. You are too cruel…” Grantaire finally put the mask down, but still didn’t move.

“I said: I want my bed back.” Enjolras demanded and sighed, when he realized Grantaire was still wearing his costume. “Get rid of those clothes.” He reached out to pull the jacket off from him.

Grantaire only started to laugh, making Enjolras even more angrier. He yanked the jacket harder and they both froze, when they heard the fabric tear. 

“You broke it!” Grantaire yelled in shock. 

“It was your fault!” Enjolras tore it again, the sound causing chills to go down Grantaire’s back.

“Stop it!” Grantaire tried to fight himself free from Enjolras’ hold and for a moment they wrestled from who got the possession of the jacket first. 

Grantaire, who’s head was light and his vision a little blurry, gave up first and Enjolras managed to pull the jacket to himself. They both stopped, breathing heavily and staring at each other. Grantaire felt Enjolras’ breath against his skin. The same need made him want to drown to Enjolras’ eyes and after a moment, he would’ve probably stepped over the edge, which separated him from Enjolras, if it wasn’t for the knock on the door.

They both turned to look towards it and Enjolras stumbled to his feet. Grantaire looked for a place to hide, but his mind was working slowly.

“ _Monsieur_ Enjolras, I heard you come in and brought you your…” Shayla stepped inside, carrying a trail of food. She stopped to her tracks on the doorway and stared wide-eyed at Grantaire. Quickly, she turned her gaze away from him and to her mister. “Do forgive me, _monsieur_. I did not know you had company.” 

“How many times have I told you, not to come in without my permission!” Enjolras shouted angrily and Shayla winced, looking down at her feet.

“I am so sorry. Please, forgive me. I shall not tell about this to your mother.” Shayla curtsied and quickly closed the door.

There was a moment of silence, in which they heard Shayla’s footsteps retreat down the hall. 

“And you…!” Enjolras suddenly shouted and turned towards Grantaire, who looked up at him in confusion. “Get rid of those clothes immediately and get on your way!”

For a moment, Grantaire just stared at his friend, never seeing him this angry before. Then his gaze sharpened, like he had suddenly sobered up and he stood up quickly, starting to rip off the costume furiously.

“I have always thought, you were different from the other rich kids.” Grantaire mumbled, half to himself. “But I see, that I was wrong: ordering people around, as if you are the king of the world.”

Enjolras only shook his head angrily and turned to put the teared jacket back to his closet. 

“Here!” Grantaire handed the rest of the costume to Enjolras, after he had changed back to his own clothing. Enjolras side glanced at him before taking the clothes. Grantaire stood there a minute longer, staring at him, but Enjolras didn't react to his presence. “It is no excuse.” Grantaire said, making Enjolras stop what he was doing. “Anger is no excuse to treat others like they mean nothing.” 

With those words, Grantaire turned towards the window. He struggled for a moment with the lock, before getting it open. Enjolras watched after him, wanting to say that he could use the stairs, since the rest of his family had not come back, but instead, he stayed silent. Grantaire climbed to the windowsill and disappeared into the darkness. Enjolras heard him climb down, swearing on his way, when the path wasn’t as familiar as it once had been and since his body’s measures had changed over the years, making it harder for him to found footing.

Grantaire was half way down the first floor, when he couldn't find the stepping stone he had used all those years ago. So, he jumped down, his left leg giving in underneath him and he stumbled to his knees. Cursing a little more, Grantaire managed to get up and walk swiftly out of the gates. 

Enjolras closed the doors of the closet and sat down to the side of the bed. He waited for a moment and soon, as he had expected, Shayla knocked on the door. She waited outside, until Enjolras called her in.

“ _Monsieur_.” Shayla put the trail down to the side table and was about to leave, when Enjolras stopped her:

“Wait!” Enjolras wished he didn't have to tell her this, but it needed to be done and better sooner or later. “My _mère_ , wishes you to retire from our service.”

“I know, _monsieur_ Enjolras.” Shayla said, a sad smile appearing on her lips. “I have known for a while.”

“She told you?” Enjolras questioned, but Shayla shook her head.

“ _Non, monsieur_. But I have known, that one day, my services are no longer needed.” She said and paused for a moment, before continuing with teary eyes. “You have become such a good, young man and I am grateful to have been able to watch you grow through all these years.”

Enjolras looked away from her, staring at the wall in front of him. Not knowing what to say to that.

“I will be going now, _monsieur_.” She bowed a little.

“I will make sure _mère_ writes you a letter of recommendation.” Enjolras said before she was able to walk through the door.

“Oh, no, that is not necessary!” Shayla gasped in shock, not wanting to cause any more trouble between Enjolras and his mother.

“I shall do it, no matter what you say.” Enjolras now stood up and walked to stand in front of her. He only now realized, he had grown taller than her. “I wanted to thank you, Shayla, for being here to support me. I am forever grateful.”

“ _Monsieur_ Enjolras…” Shayla sobbed loudly and tried to wipe her tears, which kept on falling. “Can I…?” She lifted her arms, in question if she could give him one last hug, and Enjolras nodded, wrapping his arms around her as she hugged him tightly. “You will become a good man, just like your father and achieve great things in life.” She said and caressed his cheek fondly before curtsying and leaving the room.

Enjolras watched her go and after a moment, he heard the front door being opened and his mother’s voice echoing through the hall. He took a deep breath and headed downstairs. He was lucky to find his mother alone, allowing their butler to take off her overcoat. Others had probably departed to the salon for one last glass of wine, before going to bed. 

“ _Mère_? Can I have a word with you?” Enjolras asked as he descended the stairs.

“What is it, Enjolras?” She replied, nodding for the butler to give him permission to leave. “Did you fire Shayla already?”

“I did.” Enjolras nodded, hating the look of admiration in his mother’s eyes. “But I wish, you could write her a letter of recommendation.”

“I shall not! I told her as much, when she let that boy from the streets inside this house without telling me.” His mother said sternly and turned to leave and join the others.

“She is too old to get another job without it.” Enjolras said, but his mother didn’t react. “If you do not write it to her, then I will and you know how people would question that.”

Finally, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “Very well, Enjolras. I do as you wish. But in exchange, I hope you will not spend any more time with that Turkish ballet dancer.”

“ _Mère_?” Enjolras didn't understand what she had meant.

She turned around to face him and looked at him knowingly. “I am no fool, Enjolras. I did recognise him to be the same boy who… visited us that one night.” She explained her words, making Enjolras’ stomach drop. “I am not saying he is a bad person, quite the contrary, he seemed very polite, but he does not help you in your future relations if you wish to make as good career, as your father did.”

“I felt bad, for how I treated him back then. He did not deserve such a harsh treatment, for being worried about you. That is why I did not inform anyone he had sneaked in the masquerade. I hope you understand, where I am coming from.” She finally stopped, looking calmly at her son.

Enjolras looked somewhere at her feet before slowly nodding. 

“I need you to say it out loud.” She said, waiting patiently.

Enjolras cleared his throat and lifted his chin up to meet his mother’s eyes. “I shall respect your wish, _mère_.”

His mother smiled. “Good. Now, go to bed. Shayla will stay until tomorrow and I shall give her the letter first thing in the morning.”

“ _Merci, mère_.” Enjolras bowed his head a little before retreating to his bedroom.

 

 

For months, Enjolras tried to avoid any contact with his old friends, especially with Grantaire. He wanted to honor his promise to his mother, but slowly, he started to found himself at the same places, he and his friends used to spend time in. He hadn’t promised to stay away from Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly, if he was to be exact. So, if he saw them somewhere, he gladly spent time with them, but whenever Grantaire joined them, he made an excuse, in under he left for the day. 

Grantaire was certain, Enjolras hated him now. Everything pointed towards that fact, and the insides of his body screamed in agony. He knew he should’ve never tried to get closer to Enjolras. The friendship they had should’ve been enough for him, but Grantaire had become greedy and now he paid for it. He had made things even worse by saying those horrible words to Enjolras, which weren't even true. Enjolras wasn't some spoiled brat. He had always been fair and saved him from many impossible situations and this is how Grantaire had thanked him. 

They both knew, that the others were worried about them. They would often ask, if something had happened, but every time they played down of what had happening between them. Combeferre set to his mission, to get the two friends talking to each other again, and so he set up meetings multiple of times, in where Enjolras and Grantaire would have to face each other. But every time he failed. The two friends would sat as far away from each other as possible, only exchanging words, if it had something to do with the current conversation going on with the rest of them. 

Things changed at the beginning of December. The first snow covered the streets of Paris, as Enjolras sat at the carriage with his mother and her husband. They were heading to the church. Enjolras knew he was expected to go to confession, but he had no idea what he should confess about. Maybe, he should tell that he was spending his time with friends his mother didn't approve, but he didn't feel apologetic for that, and the church didn't say against having friends from different social classes. 

So, when Enjolras sat at the other side of the trellis, separating him from the pastor, he told about his will of helping disadvantage people and how bad he felt for having his stomach full, as he knew many boys of his age went to bed every night, feeling hunger and coldness. This was his common subject, while talking to the pastor and every time he reassured him that God would take care of the unfortunate ones, and that he should not feel bad for them, if he was able to give some poor soul a _sou_ or two every once in a while. And every time, Enjolras would leave the confession, feeling the same weight over his shoulders as before it.

As Enjolras made his way down the stairs of the church, he noticed Courfeyrac and Feuilly sitting at the side, waving for him to come and talk to them. Enjolras looked after his mother, making sure she had not noticed him staying behind, before walking to his friends. He pulled his coat better around himself and hugged his body to keep himself warm. 

“What are you dong here?” He asked once he reached them.

“We wanted to ask you something.” Courfeyrac was the first one to talk, his breath steaming in the cold air.

“We knew you would come to church today.” Feuilly explained their presence there.

“What is it?” Enjolras had started to feel worried, since Courfeyrac, who usually was smiling and joking, looked quite serious.

“Enjolras? What are you doing?” Enjolras straightened his position to see his mother looking towards them, with a frown on her face.

“I am only helping the unfortunate ones, as the pastor told me to.” Enjolras quickly explained.

“Very well, but do not take too long. It is cold out here.” His mother nodded at him approvingly, before going to sit inside the carriage. 

Enjolras turned once again towards his friends.

“It is Grantaire.” Courfeyrac said, making Enjolras shift nervously and he tried to hide it, as if he was only shivering from cold. “We have not seen him in a few days and Combeferre heard, the other day, that his aunt has passed away.”

“That is unfortunate, surely, but what does it have to do with me?” Enjolras didn’t mean to sound cold, but his friends’ faces told him, he had done just that. 

“Grantaire is your friend, is he not?” Feuilly was the one to ask, eyeing Enjolras closely, as if he had suddenly become someone unknown to them.

Enjolras hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Of course he is.”

“Then, can you help us to find him?” Courfeyrac asked. “We went to his house, but no one was answering the door. Combeferre is searching the school grounds. We already checked the Luxembourg's garden and Jean XXIII’s square, but could not find him.”

Enjolras sighed and looked back at the carriage, where his mother was waiting. Without another word, he walked to it, leaving his friends looking baffled at each other. He opened the door and was met with his mother’s frustrated gaze.

“Finally, get inside and close the door, it is freezing in here.” She ushered him to get in, but Enjolras didn't move.

“My friend is missing. I need to go look for him.” He simply explained, not waiting for his mother to reply and instead, he closed the door and went back to Courfeyrac and Feuilly. 

“Enjolras!” He heard his mother shout after him, but he didn't turn around. He half expected her to follow him, but instead he heard the driver urge the horses to trot and the carriage starting to move.

“Where exactly have you already looked for him?” Enjolras asked from his friends.

 

 

Grantaire sat beside the Seine. As every street and rooftop of Paris were covered with white snow and puddles were frozen, the river was as dark as before and streaming onward. He stared into its depths, as if seeing something in there. With his other hand, he was holding a bottle of wine, which he had found his aunt holding, the morning she had died. He had kept it safe, until today he had taken it from underneath the loosen flooring board, from where he stocked all the bottles he had stolen from her possession. But it had not stopped her from taking that medicine one doctor had ordered for her, and drinking herself to death. 

Grantaire had dutifully arranged everything there was to arrange for her funeral and watched her being buried to a nearby graveyard, like she had wished to be buried. After that, he had taken the bottle and had come to sit here. The wine tasted awful from already opened bottle, but he didn't care. He lifted it to his lips and leaned back with his head to take a swig, but only a drop or two came out. He examined the bottle closely and realized it was empty. He had drank third of a quarter already. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and dropped the bottle to the stoning. His fingertips were numb, since he was wearing only old pair of half gloves. He couldn’t feel his toes or the tip of his nose either, but he still didn’t feel cold. Grantaire’s eyes were still on Seine. He wondered what the water would feel like, if he would jump in or how fast his body would be taken by the stream and never found again. 

“Grantaire?” From somewhere, far away, he could hear a familiar voice calling out his name. Grantaire turned around, but didn’t see anyone on top of the stairs, where the voice had come from. 

“Grantaire?” The voice sounded again and this time, he was sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was Enjolras, calling out his name.

Slowly, his legs stiffed by cold, Grantaire started to walk up the stairs, away from the edge of the Seine. Once he reached his destination, he saw Enjolras standing a few meters ahead of him, looking at him with worried eyes, warming Grantaire’s heart. It was still early in the morning and the sun was rising from behind Enjolras, making him look like an angel of savior and Grantaire knew, that Enjolras truly was that for him.

Enjolras felt relieved beyond measure, to see his friend walk up the stairs, safe and sound. He had had a hunch, that Grantaire would be here, in a place where they had jumped into the river all those years ago. 

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac emerged to Enjolras’ side, smiling widely when they finally found him. Feuilly and Combeferre hurried from one of the alleyways as well, breathing heavily. They had clearly run from somewhere further away, when they had heard Grantaire’s name being called.

Grantaire looked like a shadow, from what he usually was. He was pale from cold and dark circles surrounded his eyes. All this time he had been looking at Enjolras and only glanced at his other friends as they had arrived. Shivering, Grantaire started to walk towards his friends. Enjolras stepped forward to meet him and Grantaire almost collapsed into his embrace. Enjolras had to pull his body up slightly, so that Grantaire wouldn’t slid to the ground, before he wrapped his arms tightly around his friend.

Grantaire burst out to tears against Enjolras’ shoulder and buried his face to his jacket and to the warmth of his embrace. He had missed his friend so much, that it had physically hurt him, but now Enjolras was here and Grantaire knew he could pull through this, no matter what.


	7. The best meal in whole Paris

_1821  
March_

Enjolras looked at himself from the mirror, feeling troubled. His mother had asked his new servant, Chevalier, to bring him the dark blue court dress he was now wearing. It didn't suit him at all. But that wasn't the reason he felt troubled. It was the fact, that his mother had bothered to pick up an outfit for him in the first place. She had never done that. So, Enjolras knew, she was planning something, but he had no idea what. On top of it all, Enjolras felt like he was in a wrong place. He had felt like that for a while now. He didn't wish to live in a big mansion, with servants all around him, whose only objective was to address to his needs. He didn't wish to study and in the end only inherit his aunt’s husband and the Tadeo’s bank. He knew nothing about banking, and didn't even wish to know.

“Enjolras!” He heard his mother shout his name from downstairs.

Enjolras took one last look of his reflection and gazed at it in disgust. 

As he arrived to the entrance hall, he saw his mother standing in the middle of it, smiling towards him. “My handsome boy.” She straightened his collar with shaking hands.

Enjolras felt even more worried. 

“There is someone I would like you to meet.” She took a step back and smiled widely again.

“Who?” The frown between Enjolras’ eyebrows deepened. He didn't like the way this was heading.

“You remember lady Adèle, the daughter of _Monsieur_ Deniaud, don’t you?” She addressed the question to him, but had turned to talk towards the salon.

Enjolras looked to the direction his mother had faced and felt his stomach drop, when he saw the familiar girl, who he had taken to dance at the masquerade over a year go. He knew it would come to haunt him and he blamed Grantaire for it.

“Enjolras?” His mother lowered his voice and looked at him eagerly, slightly nodding towards their guests.

Enjolras hated his mother at that very moment but still, polite as he was, walked in front of the girl, took her hand in his and bowed. “I could never forget young lady Adèle.” He lied smoothly. He had forgotten her the moment he had left her sitting alone after that dance. He looked up to see the girl blush and smile shyly again. She was younger than Enjolras, probably at age of thirteen, or younger. 

The dinner went by slowly. Enjolras counted the dishes and minutes, to the moment he could retreat back to his room and be left alone. Adèle’s father, _Monsieur_ Deniaud, was an well earning lawyer from the city of Reims. He was known of his drastic opinions such as: all the poor people should either be placed to the country side, from out of sight, or they should be sent to Denmark where they wouldn’t disturb France’s development.

Enjolras hated the man before he had even opened his mouth, but at the same time, he longed to have an good argument with him before the dinner was over. He didn't have to wait long, since the first words, the man blurted out of his mouth, considered the revolution of 1789 and how he thought France would be a much better place to live, if it was ruled by the king Ludvig XVI’s family.

“So that the nobility could gather even more money and wealth for themselves?” Enjolras opened his mouth immediately, seeing from the corner of his eye his mother's posture stiffen. 

_Monsieur_ Deniaud shot his eyes at him and smiled sarcastically. Then he turned to look at his mother. “Your boy thinks he knows something about France’s history. Maybe you should send him back to primary school to learn some facts.”

“I know more facts than you do!” Enjolras raised his voice, smiling, when Deniaud looked at him angrily. “My father taught me many things about history. Not all comes from studying. I believe, if Ludvig XVI were still on throne, you would be living in a gutter.” 

“Enjolras.” His mother warned him, but he didn't listen to her. He was too far gone.

“Your father had started from nothing and earned the money, you now own, with his hard work, am I correct?” Enjolras didn’t wait for Deniaud’s respond: “The poor people, we now see on the streets, do their work and attempt to earn, at least so much, so they can feed their families. Tell me, monsieur Deniaud: do you think that is just, while we sit here, drinking the most expensive wine and eating pork chops?” 

“Enjolras!” This time it was his mother’s husband, who had raised from his seat, so that it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Go to your room.” 

Enjolras looked towards his step-father, without any change in his expression. He wasn’t afraid of him.

“Now!” He shouted and pointed towards the entrance hall. 

Enjolras stayed put, for a moment longer, staring at his step-father. Then he rose to his feet, took one last look at Deniaud, satisfied that the man was left speechless and left the room without another word. At least, he got out of the hell his mother had dragged him into.

Enjolras heard the guests leave soon after that. He didn't bother to go down and instead laid on his bed and started reading. He was soon so absorbed to the book, that he couldn't hear the footsteps coming closer down the hall and startled, when the door of his room was pushed open with a loud bang. 

“You should be given a good beating for that smug attitude of yours!” Enjolras’ mother’s husband shouted as he barged in. Enjolras had never seen the man so angry. Behind him, Enjolras saw his mother standing at the doorway, just watching. Enjolras stood up and tried to look as tall as he could, as he walked to stand in front of his step-father.

“I am not afraid of you.” Enjolras said slowly. “France should be a country, where everyone can say what they think, without someone like you…” He was interrupted by a fist striking his jaw. 

“I am your father, remember that!” The man shouted, still keeping his fist clenched, even when Enjolras laid on the floor, spatting blood over the carpet. 

“That is enough!” Enjolras heard his mother yell and the footsteps of a man disappeared to the corridor. “Get up!”

Enjolras wiped the blood from his jaw and stood up, his legs shaking without his will. 

“You are a disgrace, Enjolras!” His mother’s voice was shaking as she spoke. “I knew your father set his ideas on your head when you were just a little boy, but at least he knew when to be silent and respected authority.”

“He only did that, so one day, he could change the world to better.” Enjolras defended his father as well as he was able to, when his mouth was full of blood. He looked down to the floor where the puddle of blood now stained his mother’s shoes.

“From this day forward…” His mother took hold of his chin and lifted his face up, so he had to look at her in the eye. “…you’ll be calling my husband your father, as it is the right thing to do.”

“He is not my father.” Enjolras tried to pull himself free, but his mother held on tighter. Her fingertips sinking into his skin.

“You will call him your father and start to act as a member of this family.” She ordered and finally let go of his face, making Enjolras almost fall backwards.

There was a long silence, during which Enjolras looked around the room he had lived in for the last six years and he heard the clock, which had been always on his wall, tick in unison with his mother’s heavy breathing. Then, without a word, Enjolras walked out of the room. 

His mother stayed behind, sighing heavily before following him. “Enjolras? Where are you going?” She called after him.

“Away!” He shouted at her and headed downstairs. His step-father was standing at the middle of the entrance hall, staring at him with dumbfound expression. Enjolras paid him no attention, as he stormed out of the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He didn't know where he was going, he just walked briskly down the streets. Wanting nothing more, than to get as far away as possible from that house. Many who passed him by, turned to look after him in confusion, but he didn't even slow down his pace. It didn’t take long for him to realize, where his feet had carried him. He looked at the wooden door and took a deep breath before knocking.

Grantaire came to open it, with a stunned look on his face. His mouth opened in shock, when he saw the state of Enjolras’ lip, but he didn't have time to say a word, when Enjolras spoke out:

“Can I stay here? Just for tonight?” Enjolras asked, looking almost uncomfortable, which didn't suit him at all. 

Grantaire’s eyes rose back up to meet Enjolras’ and he nodded firmly. “As long as you need.” He then stepped aside to let his friend in.

Enjolras welcomed the warmth of Grantaire’s fireplace, as he walked in. He hadn’t even noticed how cold it was outside, at this time of a year, until now. He had left his jacket at the house and was now shivering.

“What happened to your face?” Grantaire rounded Enjolras, to take a proper look at his face. His lower lip was cracked open and his jaw and front of his shirt were covered in blood. “Wait… I think I have…” Grantaire turned around, to go through the wooden table which was covered with various stuff, in search for something.

Enjolras looked around his friend’s apartment. Grantaire had moved here soon after his aunt's death. She had left him with only the furniture from his old room and little money to rent an small room for himself. It was a dark and damp place, and Enjolras had been shocked the first time he had seen it, but Grantaire ensured him that in the mornings, the light would shine inside this gloomy place and that the fireplace made it cosier and actually livable. Enjolras wasn't sure, if he had sugar-coated the down parts of living alone in an apartment like this, or had he spoken truly. He guessed for the former, but he had to admit, that the place didn't look so bad when the fireplace created a warm glow and lit up the room. In any case, Grantaire wasn’t doing so bad, since his uncle was now sending him money from Toulouse, where he owned some land and cattle. Grantaire also earned money from somewhere and studied something in the university. Neither Enjolras, or their friends knew exactly what Grantaire was doing with his life, but they guessed he sold art and only studied, since his uncle had demanded him to.

“Found it.” Grantaire lifted up a piece of canvas, he had searched from the muddle of junk that was covering his table. He went to the fireplace and pulled out a pot of boiling water, dipping the canvas into it.

“No, you do not have to…” Enjolras tried to protest, as Grantaire came to stand before him with the cloth in his hand. 

“We need to clean your wound. Otherwise, it will infect and spread to your mouth and you lose all your teeth. You do not wish that to happen, do you?” Grantaire replied sternly, giving Enjolras no room for objections. “Sit down, would you?” 

Reluctantly, Enjolras did as Grantaire told him to and sat down to the only chair in the room. Grantaire cleared some space to the table, so he could sit on top of it. Then he brought the cloth down to Enjolras’ lip, making him draw a sharp breath between his teeth.

“So? Are you going to tell me what happened?” Grantaire asked after wiping most of the blood from Enjolras’ face.

Enjolras stayed silent for a long while. Then he took the clothe from Grantaire and pressed it against his, still bleeding lip. “I had a little argument with my step-fath… _mère’s_ husband.” He said vaguely. 

“No news there.” Grantaire had known for a while, that Enjolras didn't like the man, but he had no idea it would go this far. Grantaire wasn't his fan either, and he had only met him once.

“What is that?” Enjolras eyes had spotted a large, leather covered book from between the garbage Grantaire had tossed aside.

Grantaire’s eyes followed his gaze to the book and he quickly looked away from it, concentrating to his task. “It is nothing. Just some scribbles.” He tried to look under the cloth to see what Enjolras' lip now looked like.

“I have been thinking…” Enjolras took off the cloth and looked at it, to see if the bleeding had dried out. “…for a while now, that I should just move away and find myself an own place to live.”

“Really?” Grantaire sounded completely surprised, or he just acted. Enjolras only gave him a dry look. “Is your mother willing to pay your living expenses, or is she as mad as your… her husband?”

Enjolras licked his swollen lower lip, tasting the blood in his mouth. “I do not know. I haven’t thought so far yet.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, earning a murderous look from Enjolras, but he had always reckoned Enjolras thought through everything, to the tiniest of details and that this situation wasn't like him at all.

“It does not look so bad after all.” Grantaire quickly changed the subject and eyed Enjolras’ lip closely. He was glad the only mirror in his apartment, was on the other room of the house: the entrance, which Enjolras probably hadn't even noticed. His lips looked gruesome, but Grantaire was positive it would heal just fine.

It had already been late, when Enjolras had emerged, knocking on Grantaire’s door and the fireplace was now slowly dying down. Grantaire poked the embers, to get them burn more evenly. During that time Enjolras had crawled to his bed and settled near the wall. At first, Grantaire thought his friend had already fallen asleep, but then Enjolras started to mend the pillow to his liking. A little awkwardly, Grantaire sat to the side of the bed and laid down to his back. He stared at the ceiling and listened at Enjolras hitting the pillow. The bed swayed, as Enjolras tried to find the best position to sleep in, until he settled to his side, facing Grantaire. 

Grantaire was glad that his bed was large enough to fit two people. It wasn’t as large as Enjolras’ bed, for example, but when they slept at far ends of it, they didn’t have to touch each other. Enjolras had closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. He felt the awkward atmosphere between them again and wished it would go away. 

When Grantaire was sure Enjolras had fallen asleep, he carefully turned his head to look at the sleeping boy. The two of them, lying together in the same bed now, was so much different than six years ago. Grantaire hoped it wouldn’t be so. That he would be able to find the carefree feeling again and just fall asleep next to Enjolras, not caring if their arms or legs touched during the night. The thought made him sad and when he closed his eyes, he was able to imagine himself to the bed in Enjolras' room.

 

 

In the end, Enjolras stayed only for that night and went back home the following day. The day after that, he was already living in his own apartment. Grantaire couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised by the pace everything had happened in, but he was glad that Enjolras had got away from the suffocating atmosphere of his home. Enjolras was glad too. Although, he never asked for money, his mother just send him some every month, to make sure he didn't live in the streets. That wouldn’t do for her son. 

During that summer, Enjolras became more and more interested of political affairs and laws and how he could change them for the better. He and Feuilly talked about it often, their ideas raising to monumental degrees for many times, until Combeferre brought them back down with only a single remark, whom Enjolras had started to respect dearly. All the while, Grantaire and Courfeyrac listened their conversations with only little interest. Grantaire thought their ideology was far-fetched and simply impossible to achieve and Courfeyrac was simply much more interested of women than anything else.

Combeferre had been the first one to decide he should study law once the autumn came. It didn’t take long for Enjolras to make the same decision and encouraged the others to do so as well. To his surprise, Grantaire had been the first one to say yes and so they all, expect for Feuilly, who still worked at the fan factory, became students at the university. Although, Grantaire was already a student there, but it seemed he hadn't done much studying before.

One day, the five friends were spending time at the Luxembourg’s garden, enjoying the warm July day. Grantaire took a nap, leaning against on old oak tree. Enjolras was reading a book, on its shadow as well, laying on his side on the grass. Courfeyrac sat on Grantaire’s left side, watching the people passing by. Feuilly was, like Grantaire, half asleep but since he wasn’t leaning against anything, he threatened to fall to his back in multiple occasions. And Combeferre, who had a pale skin and easily burned, tried to avoid the sun light and sat near Enjolras. 

“Take a look at her.” Courfeyrac’s voice woke both, Grantaire and Feuilly, from their day sleep. “Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?” 

Grantaire followed his friend’s gaze, to a young lady walking pass them. She was wearing a light blue dress and held a sunshade delicately in her hands. 

“A rare beauty, I must agree.” Feuilly said, once he had woken up properly.

Grantaire didn't understand what they saw in her. Yes, she was beautiful, but she didn’t make him feel any different. At most, she could’ve been a great model for a painting, but that was all. Grantaire glanced towards Enjolras. He’s nose was still buried deep in the book and he didn’t seem to even notice his friends’ conversation. 

Courfeyrac suddenly stood up and walked after the girl. Feuilly laughed and watched anxiously what was about to happen. Combeferre crawled closer to him and they started to talk about Courfeyrac’s changes to get close to the girl. They knew their friend was great with words and often charmed women with his demeanor alone, but this one was a noble and thus, much harder to approach.

Grantaire watched his three friends in amusement. He then turned towards Enjolras again, who still paid no attention to what was going on around him. “What do you think?” He asked curiously, making Enjolras look up at him in confusion. Grantaire nodded towards Courfeyrac and the girl.

Enjolras glanced towards their direction, but only for a second, before concentrating back to the book. “A little shallow, I should say.” He only stated simply, turning a page as if he had never been interrupted. 

Grantaire smiled slightly, watching at Enjolras for a while longer before turning his attention back to Courfeyrac. He had never seen Enjolras even look at any woman twice, let alone talk to one or comment their appearance, like all their other friends did. 

Courfeyrac had now talked to the girl for long while. He was smiling politely and making her laugh at something he had said. 

“He is good.” Feuilly said, looking at the scenery a little enviously. 

Grantaire took one last look towards Enjolras, before laying his head against the oak tree and closing his eyes again.

 

 

_August_

“Hear my friends!” Grantaire declared loudly as he stepped inside the Café Musain, where all his friends were gathered. “For I have found you the best meal of Paris.”

The friends had eaten their breakfast in Musain and stayed there, like they often did, for hours after that, just discussing about everything and anything. Grantaire’s entrance didn’t go unnoticed by them.

“What are you talking about?” Feuilly asked, thinking that Grantaire had probably started drinking earlier than usual.

Grantaire came to the table they were sitting around and leaned against it with both hands, looking at them, like they were idiots. “I once promised, to treat you in the best restaurant there is in Paris and now I intend to fulfill that promise.”

It took a moment, for all four of them to realize what Grantaire was talking about. “Oh, the time when we rescued you from the police station, was that it?” Combeferre asked and Grantaire smiled widely for an reply.

“But I am not hungry.” Courfeyrac complained and looked at Grantaire in annoyance, wanting him to sit down and calm himself.

“You will be, soon!” Grantaire only said and started to walk off, but stopped middle-way from the table to the door, once he realized his friends hadn’t even made a move to accompany him. “Come on!” He ordered and waved for them to follow.

“We could at least go and take a look at the dump he takes us into. It is not like it can be a good place for real.” Feuilly said to his three other friends, who hummed in agreement. 

Grantaire hadn’t heard Feuilly’s words and was delighted to see his friends standing up and following him. He led them to a street named Mondétour and at its end, stood a three store building, in front of which he stopped. The restaurant was named Au Raisin de Corinthe, shortly just Corinthe. His four friends looked at each other warily. The place was hardly a fine looking restaurant. It didn’t even look a decent one, if they were being honest. But, since Grantaire was so pleased with himself, they followed him inside. 

“Why did the sign say _carpe horas_?” Courfeyrac questioned, as they made their way to the second floor.

“I do not know.” Grantaire said after a moment of thinking. “We have to ask from the old man Hucheloup.”

“Who is the old man Hucheloup?” Enjolras was the one to ask, as he looked around the place. It wasn’t as battered from the inside, as it was from the outside. It actually looked pretty nice and the smell of food, even though Enjolras couldn’t recognize it, was incredible. 

“The owner of his place. A genius!” Grantaire answered.

They sat to one of the largest tables near the window, which gave them view to the street. Enjolras thought it was quite a secure place and he liked the location. Little did he nor Grantaire know, that they were now sitting at the spot, which they would one day die.

“What would the gentlemen like?” A young woman, couldn’t be much older than Grantaire, had walked to their table and looked at each one of them expectantly. 

“We all take a plateful of filled carp.” Grantaire spoke for behalf of all of them.

Again, the four friends looked between each other, not quite sure what they were soon going to be faced with.

“Have you…?” Combeferre thought for a moment, not wanting to insult Grantaire in any way. “…ever actually eaten here before?”

“Of course I have!” Grantaire beamed and waved for the waitress, to bring them something to drink. “I was here only yesterday and I thought to myself: Grantaire, this is your change to pay back for your friends’ bravery.” 

They all, expect for Grantaire, held their breaths when their plates of carps were brought to the table. Enjolras took a forkful and sniffed the food warily. It smelled delicious. Then he glanced towards Grantaire, who was staring at him in anticipation. Carefully, Enjolras took the piece of fish into his mouth and chewed it. He felt all eyes on him, admiring his courage. Then he swallowed and browsed the taste in his mouth, before nodding.

“It is delicious.” He agreed with Grantaire, whose smile grew even wider, like Enjolras had just personally praised him. 

All the others followed his lead and soon agreed as well. The carp was cooked just right and the interior, whatever it was, match with the fish so well, that they finished their meals fast, even though they hadn’t even been hungry.

During the meal, Grantaire had devoured three glasses of wine, while the others were still finishing their first ones. None the others didn’t even blink an eye to the way he was drinking, but Enjolras studied him solemnly. He couldn’t understand how anyone could drink so much during one dinner, when he felt satisfied with only one glass. As Grantaire became a little drunk: he started to ramble about pointless things, annoying Enjolras even more.

“Everyone should live their childhood in the country, I say.” Grantaire started one of his monologues. “One has not lived a full life, if a cow has not kicked him to a stomach.”

“That makes no sense.” Courfeyrac laughed to his reasoning. “Has a cow truly kicked you?”

Grantaire opened his mouth to reply, when he was interrupted by a loud voice, coming from the nearby table: “R, you old liar!”

They all turned to look towards the sound and saw a skinny boy, with deep brown hair, rising from his seat and walking towards them with a big smile on his face.

Grantaire knew the boy looked familiar and he had to think for a moment, before he recognized him: “Bahorel!” He suddenly shouted and jumped up from his seat, so fast, that he almost fell over.

The boy, Bahorel, walked to Grantaire and instead of a hug, all the others expected him to share with Grantaire, he hit him with his fist so hard, that they were sure something broke in Grantaire’s jaw. They jumped up, ready to protect their friend, when Grantaire laughed and started to wrestle with the boy. They looked at each other, once again, wondering if they should go and help Grantaire out.

“R? Do you need any help?” Combeferre asked, leaning over the table to see the two boys now wrestling on the floor, giving each other’s punches as often as they could. 

“No…” Grantaire managed to say breathlessly, finally giving a good punch to Bahorel’s upper stomach, causing him to gag for breath. Then he stood up and offered his hand friendly to the boy, who still squirmed on the floor. 

Eventually, Bahorel seemed to recover as much, that he was able to take hold of Grantaire’s hand and was pulled back standing.

“My friends, this is Bahorel, a friend of mine from the time before I met all of you.” Grantaire introduced the boy. Bahorel rubbed his stomach with pained expression, before nodding towards them. “Bahorel, this is Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly and Courfeyrac.”

Bahorel joined their table and started to talk about the years after he had last seen Grantaire. It seemed he had lived happily at his parent’s farm, until a month ago, he had moved to the center of the Paris to study law at the university.

“You too?” Grantaire asked, stunned.

“What?” Bahorel asked and looked at his friend with a frown.

“I am going to study law there as well, just like Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” Grantaire explained, gaining a skeptical look from Bahorel.

“You? Studying law?” Bahorel laughed loudly, making the people sitting near them turn their heads towards the group. “You have broken the law more than followed it.”

This time it was Grantaire’s turn to laugh. “I assume, you are talking about yourself.”

“Maybe…” Bahorel admitted and then looked at Grantaire up and down. “How did you become so good at fighting? I never even got a change against you and you have been drinking, on top of it all.”

Grantaire smiled a little smugly. “You will someday learn to be as good as me, after living in Paris for a year or two.” He dismissed his abilities.

“I should hope so.” Bahorel said bravely, although everyone had seen his, a little horrified, face. Then Bahorel quickly changed the subject, telling about the adventures they had had, when they were kids. Along, with the revelation that it had actually been Bahorel, who the cow had kicked. 

But even though Bahorel talked a lot about his family and friendship with Grantaire, he didn’t seem to know much about Grantaire’s life. Except that he had a little brother, but when Bahorel asked what that little brother was doing, Grantaire had only forced a smile and told that he was still at the countryside and the conversation was left to that.

It made the friends realize, that they didn’t know where Grantaire had come from or why. He never told them anything about his past. Once, when they had asked if he was an orphan, Grantaire had just laughed and said: “Aren’t we all orphans in this world? Desperately looking for love and acceptance, which all men desire.” Which made them think, he wasn’t an orphan after all.

As the subject of Grantaire’s past had been mentioned, Enjolras noticed his friend stare into the distance with hollow eyes and take an even longer gulp from the bottle, which he had now bogarted from the rest of them, but no one complained. Grantaire was glad no one asked about his past or what had become of his family. It served him the effort to memorize those years of his life, but Bahorel’s sudden appearance and questions that got too close, had forced the memories back and he hated it. He had cared about his parents, one would go so far as to say that he had even loved them, not that he would ever admit it to himself. 

Little by little, all his friends started to leave to their daily chores, leaving Grantaire alone with Bahorel. They joked and laughed about their adventures and Grantaire finally apologized for hitting him too hard, but Bahorel had only laughed it off, saying that if Grantaire had given him a change, he would’ve done the same. 

They left the restaurant together in the afternoon, singing a drinking song about women and pirates. They walked to the same direction, passing through a long alleyway. Two women walked the same path from the opposite direction. Grantaire paid them no attention, but Bahorel’s eyes started to wonder. He noticed the women had to bee prostitutes.

“Do you handsome men want some company? You would not only have to sing about women.” The other one said, as they were passing by. 

Bahorel stopped and smiled widely at the other woman. Her dress was worn out and her eyes looked dim, but otherwise she was very beautiful in Bahorel’s eyes. “Certainly!” He declared and took hold of Grantaire’s shoulder, when his friend had only kept on walking. “You can come with me and you…!” He pointed towards the silent prostitute. “…you can entertain my friend here!”

“Bahorel…” Grantaire tried fiercely to figure out a convincing way to get out of this situation, but his drunken mind wasn’t working so sharp.

“Come on, R!” Bahorel leaned closer to him and whispered, or at least he thought he was whispering, to Grantaire’s ear: “A man needs the comforting arms of a woman ever so often.” Then he pushed himself further away from Grantaire and offered his hand to the other prostitute. He gave both of the women some of his money and soon disappeaed with the other around the corner.

Grantaire was left there, staring after them and wondering what he should do. He felt the other prostitute’s eyes on him and finally turned towards her.

“I apologize, but…” He started, but the woman interrupted him by stepping closer and placing her finger against his lips. 

“Hush, young boy.” She whispered and smiled seductively, looking him up and down. “Your friend already paid for my services, so you should not worry about a thing.” 

Grantaire didn’t have time to say a word, when she suddenly dragged him along from his collar, until her back hit the stone wall behind her. She lifted her other leg around his hip and rubbed herself against him. Grantaire just stared at her, not knowing what to do. Then he felt her take his left hand and guide it under her dress and gasped, as his fingers traced her vulva. Grantaire tried to pull his hand free, but she pressed it even more tighter against herself. He didn’t know what to do, if she even expected him to do or feel anything. Finally, what felt like forever, she let go of his hand and just when Grantaire was about to rejoice his freedom, she took hold of his crotch almost painfully. 

“Am I your first woman?” She asked, as she examined Grantaire’s shocked expression. Then she smiled and rubbed her hand against him, slowly at first and then a little harder, until she stopped and frowned at him.

“You are not that drunk.” She stated then.

“I umm…” Grantaire avoided her eyes, wanting to say he needed to go, but he was quite sure, she would rather murder him than let him go.

“Oh, I see. I am not man enough for you.” She then pushed him away and once again looked him up and down.

Grantaire wasn’t quite sure, if she had meant what he think she had or, if she expected him to deny it. Slowly, like a cat stalking to its prey, she rounded him. Grantaire turned around, uncomfortable to keep his back turned towards her. Then she attacked, pushing Grantaire against the wall and going down to her knees in front of him.

“Do not worry. I know what helps you.” She then pulled down his trousers and Grantaire watched in shock, as she took him into her mouth. She licked for a moment before looking up at him. “Close your eyes and forget that its me.” 

Grantaire hesitated for a moment, before closing his eyes. At first, he felt only uncomfortable, but then he started to feel blood rushing down his body. He let out an unintentional gasp and leaned his head against the wall. His mind returned back to six months ago, to the masquerade and on top of that bureau, with Enjolras sitting by his side. Grantaire imagined things would’ve gone differently, like he had done many times before, and instead of Enjolras turning his head away after his mother had called out his name, their lips would’ve pressed together. Grantaire imagined Enjolras' soft and warm lips against his. The way he would’ve ran his tongue against them and imagined what Enjolras tasted like. Then his mind pictured Enjolras kneeling in front of him and taking him into his mouth, much like the prostitute had done earlier. The thought was too much for him and he came gasping into the woman’s mouth.

She didn’t seem to mind, just swallowed and wiped her fingers across her mouth. Then she stood, pulling Grantaire’s trousers up with her. 

“See? I told you would be easy.” She laughed a little and caressed the side of Grantaire’s face. “I am sure you can use your imagination later on, when the time comes. Or…” She paused and seemed to judge Grantaire before continuing: “I have a friend, who makes the imagining unnecessary. What do you say?”

Grantaire looked at her, still in shock of what had just happened. He wondered who this friend of hers was, but his imagination wasn’t going to let go of Enjolras, kneeling in front of him. So, he shook his head fiercely and she nodded in understanding.

“I see.” She said and took a step back. “I will be patrolling here on time to time. Come and seek me out, if your mind is changed.” With that, she left.

Grantaire stood there for a moment longer, leaning against the wall and hating himself. Why had she made him imagine Enjolras doing such an foul act? He hadn’t wanted to do so. Enjolras was far above from a quick blowjob in a dark alleyway. Grantaire pushed himself off the wall and started to walk home swiftly. He felt tears burn his eyes and shame knotted his stomach. He knew, he was an awful friend to Enjolras and he needed to stop this somehow, so he could become better. Someone Enjolras deserved to stand by his side.


	8. Your friendship means everything to me

_1823_

_August_

 

At the beginning of their second year at the university, their professor of law changed. As Enjolras listened to this man’s lectures and idealism, he felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise up. He was completely different from the professor, who had taught them before and many times didn’t even criticize their present law system. 

“Today, we have a very advanced juridical system, compared to many other countries, for example our neighbour: Germany.” The professor told them. “All the criminals in our country, go through the same trials, which…”

Enjolras could not stand it any longer. “Professor? Isn’t it so, that the citizens of France, as you call them criminals, are often the needy ones?” He stood up and asked loudly. Even Grantaire, who had been sound asleep, almost from the first minute of the lecture, woke up and looked at Enjolras in confusion. “Surely, they are more often exposed to circumstances, which leads to criminality, but we all know, that many rich people, including the king, has done wrong to this country and yet they go unpunished. Why is it so?” Enjolras took a short break, but didn't wait for anyone to answer, as he continued himself: “Because they have the influence and money to frame the poorer citizens and bride the judges. As the future lawyers in France, aren’t we…” Enjolras waved his hand around the room. “…responsible of changing such a faulty system? And aren’t you, as the professor of law, responsible of teaching us, how we can accomplish that?” 

There was a long silence in the room, as the students all gaped at Enjolras and waited anxiously for the professor’s reaction. They feared, Enjolras would be kicked out of the class and from the whole university because of that speech. 

“Ah, I think I know you...” The professor said, not a bit offended by Enjolras outburst. “You are Enjolras, are you not?”

“ _Oui_ , I am.” Enjolras frowned at the man. He was certain he had never met the man before and doubted he already remembered all his students by name.

“Thought as much.” The professor said calmly. “I knew your father, a good man.” He said, making Enjolras feel a little conflicted. If the professor knew his father and called him a good man, how come his ideologic differed so much from his father’s?

“We had many fascinating conversation, back in the day.” The professor continued. “He had admirable ideas for the future, but some were… out of prospect, for one could actually achieve them.”

Enjolras drew a breath through his nose, swallowing the anger he felt towards the man. “The world does not change, if one thinks it cannot be changed. My father knew that and so, he believed big.”

The professor looked at Enjolras behind his glasses and smiled wickedly. “You are remarkably like him. I shall enjoy our years together, mister Enjolras. Now, would you sit down?”

For a moment longer, Enjolras stood and looked at the professor, before sitting down, feeling everyone’s gaze on him. 

“Thank you. To all of your information: I’ll be happy to hear your thoughts and reflections of the matters we speak in here. So, if you have something to say, speak up, like mister Enjolras just did.” The professor continued with the subject and this time Enjolras was satisfied with his deduction. It seemed he had misjudged the man too hastily. He valued a man, who was able to see different sides of matters and change his opinion, if so needed. Although, everyone who knew Enjolras, would say that he never changed his opinion, no matter how wrong he was.

After the professor had given them permission to leave, a young boy approached Enjolras.

“Excuse me?” He asked with a low voice, trying to get Enjolras’ attention. “I am not sure if you recognize me…” He started, but Enjolras cut him off:

“I do.” He said simply after looking the boy up and down. “You are Jean Prouvaire, are you not?”

“ _Oui_.” The boy said, smiling a little. “I am glad I got the chance to meet you after all these years.” 

Grantaire looked between the boy and Enjolras in interest. He couldn't remember Enjolras ever speaking of any Jean Prouvaire before.

“What is it that you want?” Enjolras asked, a little coldly, as he packed his books.

Jean squirmed a little before opening his mouth again: “I have been wanting to apologize to you.”

“Whatever for?” Enjolras stopped in the middle of lifting one of the books and looked at the boy in confusion.

“For all those times, you got into a fight with others. I did not stand up for you, even though I knew you were right.” Jean explained his reason for apology.

Enjolras was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “I do not blame you. You were only a kid, as was I, but I am pleased to see you have become a bigger person in the past years.”

Jean smiled, like Enjolras words meant a world to him. Grantaire wished Enjolras would someday phrase him like that. 

“Me and my friends are heading to café Musain. You are welcome to join us.” Enjolras invited Jean, who nodded eagerly. 

“I would love to.” Then he looked at Grantaire, like he had seen him for the first time and offered his hand to him. “Jean Prouvaire.” He said, like Grantaire hadn’t heard it before.

“Grantaire.” He still accepted the hand and shook it. 

“To knowledge for everyone else as well: if you are interested of discussing laws and politics, you are welcome to join us in café Musain.” Enjolras suddenly said to every student, who were preparing to leave the auditorium.

“I would like to join you.” A bald boy said, who Grantaire didn't recognize. “But today I am busy. Where can I find you some other day?”

“From the café or a restaurant named Corinthe.” Enjolras replied to him.

“Very well.” The boy said and smiled widely. “I shall come look for you there one day.”

As they walked together towards the café Musain, Jean started to talk about Middle Ages in enthusiasm, boring the hell out of Grantaire, but Enjolras listened carefully. It didn’t take long for everyone to start to call him as Jehan and liked to listen to his wise words and poetry.

 

_October_

It took weeks for the bald boy to appear to Corinthe, so that the August had already turned to September and September to October. Enjolras wasn't there that day, but the boy recognized Grantaire, who was talking loudly with some other boy.

“ _Bonjour_ , you know Enjolras, do you not?” Grantaire turned to look at the boy and after a moment of confusion, his face lit up, as he recognized him. 

“I do!” Grantaire said and patted the chair next to him, the only one still free around the table. “Unfortunately, Enjolras is not here today. I doubt he will come.”

“Is that so?” The bald boy seemed a little sad by the knowledge, but he soon smiled. “I should have expected as much. With my luck, it was inevitable that Enjolras was not around.”

“Maybe your luck will change someday. But do not fear, Grantaire is here!” Grantaire said and turned to smile widely towards the boy he had been speaking with earlier. It was Jehan, who rolled his eyes for his bad attempt of poetry.

“You should stick with painting and drinking, Grantaire.” He said jokingly. “I am Jean, by the way.” He introduced himself to the bald boy. 

“I am Lesgle, but many call me Bossuet and this one here is Joly.” The bald boy, Bossuet, turned to point towards an uncomfortable looking young man behind him. Neither Grantaire or Jehan had noticed the boy before. He had been standing silently behind Lesgle and only now nodded to both of them. “Come and sit down, Joly.” Bossuet said and took out a free chair from the table next to them.

“I told you, I should be in bed.” Joly said to him with lowered voice. “I do not wish to infect anyone.”

Grantaire now looked towards Jehan with wide eyes. It seemed, Jean was as shocked to hear that the healthy-looking boy was ill with something.

“You are as healthy as me, or anyone else in this room.” Bossuet said firmly and took hold of Joly’s arm, guiding him to sit down.

“But I am sure it is tuberculosis.” Joly insisted, causing Grantaire to shift a little further away from him. “My throat was itchy this morning and I was even more tired than normal.”

“You are imagining things.” Bossuet said. “He is imagining it.” He then assured Grantaire and Jehan, who weren't sure which one to believe. “Joly here, is a medical student.” Bossuet continued and clapped Joly’s shoulder.

“So… he knows the symptoms of tuberculosis better than anyone?” Grantaire eyed Bossuet warily, like he had just lied straight to his face.

Joly opened his mouth, ready to start a lecture about the symptoms of tuberculosis, when Bossuet quickly interrupted him: “He is very good at it, but you know what it is like: you read about diseases and symptoms, until you start to believe you have them as well?”

“You think that is it?” Joly seemed to finally believe his friend’s words. Bossuet nodded. “Maybe you are right. My throat feels fine now.” Joly admitted and looked a little ashamed. “I shall treat you all some wine.” He then got up and went towards the bar. 

Grantaire’s eyes followed the boy to the other end of the room, when he noticed a red jacket and a blonde hair coming up the stairs. Enjolras looked tired, as he made his way towards their table, which they usually occupied. Grantaire’s eyes never left him, as Enjolras sat down to the vacant chair.

“Did something happen?” Jehan asked as he saw Enjolra’s dull expression.

“Nothing, but that is precisely why it was so dreadfully dull.” Enjolras said and then he noticed Bossuet sitting next to him. “Oh, you are Lesgle, right?”

“You remembered my name?” Bossuet asked in admiration. “What were you talking about just now?”

“I was at my _mère’s_ house. She had invited the steel factory’s owner for dinner and it required my presence.” Enjolras explained. Joly had now come back, with four glasses of wine and started to pass them to everyone. Enjolras took the last glass, which Joly had intended for himself and he now looked at Enjolras in confusion.

Grantaire tried to hide his smile. “Enjolras, this is Joly.” He managed to swallow the laughter down and he introduced the boy, who Enjolras had clearly mistook for a waitress. 

Enjolras looked up to him with a frown on his face, clearly not sure why Grantaire would introduce him to the boy.

“Joly here is a medical student…” Bossuet explained and looked around, to see if there were any free chairs around, but they were in no luck, since it was an rush hour and every table and chair were taken. 

“I believe you just stole his chair, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, trying not to laugh.

Enjolras gave him an icy stare, before standing up and offering the chair back to Joly. “I apologize, I did not know it was already taken.” He said and received an honest smile from Joly. 

In the end, Enjolras decided to sit on top of the windowsill, next to Grantaire. The subject turned to different sections of law and trials. Grantaire didn't feel the need to listen much longer and he settled on staring at Enjolras, pretending to listen and just enjoyed hearing his voice. 

 

 

_1825_

_November_

 

One night at Corinthe was unusually merry one. All the friends had gathered into the second floor and food and drinks were consumed in a swiftly pace. Drinking songs echoed on the walls and many people passing by the restaurant wondered, if they were celebrating something. That wasn't the case. They were just in a good mood.

Enjolras sat by the table near the window. He had been infected by the good atmosphere as well. He sang along with most of the songs, although he had not drank as much as others, only finishing his first glass of wine. Grantaire’s voice could be heard from miles away, as he started rambling on about this and that, whenever one song had come to an end. Enjolras paid only little attention to what his friend was talking about, but he seemed to tell funny stories, since the boys sitting closest to him: Courfeyrac and Joly, often burst out to laughter. 

“ _Drink with me to days gone by! Sing with me the songs we knew!_ ” Grantaire started to sing an old drinking song, with a joyful tune and they all joined in:

“ _Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads! Here’s to witty girls who went to our beds! Here’s to them and here’s to you!_ ”

Grantaire squeezed Matelote’s, one of the waitresses, bottom as she passed him by. The girl jumped and almost spilled the drinks she had been carrying to the floor, which lead to a shocked expression from Grantaire and he quickly stopped disturbing the waitress, who was a little sad about it.

“ _Drink with me to days gone by! To the life that used to be! At the shrine of friendship never say die! Let the wine of friendship never run dry!_ ” The song still continued as Matelote placed a full bottle in front of Grantaire and tried to steal a gaze from him as she did so, but Grantaire had once again concentrated on singing and was smiling towards Courfeyrac. 

“ _Here’s to you and here’s to me!_ ” The friends sang and lifted their bottles and glasses, before taking a sip. 

It was late when they started to leave, one by one, until only Enjolras and Grantaire were left behind. Enjolras, because he didn't feel tired and wanted to finish his meal he had ordered and Grantaire, because he needed to drink some water, before he was able to walk the short way home. 

“You should thank me, Enjolras, for finding this place.” Grantaire suddenly pointed out, as he watched Enjolras eat his fish. “Corinthe serves the best meals in whole Paris.”

Enjolras didn't dare to contradict. He had eaten in much better places and Corinthe served only decent food, but it was not for the food Enjolras came here so often, but the company of his friends. He also knew that Grantaire hadn't had the possibility to eat in more fancier places and this was the best restaurant he could ever afford.

“If only the waitresses were better looking and the man managing this place a little friendlier, this would be the French’s favorite public-house.” Grantaire glanced towards Matelote as he spoke, but his gaze returned quickly to Enjolras, as if wanting to see how he reacted to his words. Enjolras only nodded absentmindedly and continued eating, not even thinking about looking towards the waitress. He had seen her many times and didn't consider her ugly, nor beautiful. She was just waitress to him, a woman who brought them their foods and drinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

Enjolras finally finished his dish and drank a glass of water on top of it. “Are you leaving too?” He asked as he stood up and looked at Grantaire, who was grinning to nothing in particular. 

“I shouldn’t, shouldn’t I?” Grantaire mumbled, making Enjolras assume that he was too drunk to make any sense by now. 

“Stand up. I shall help you get home.” Enjolras waved for him to get up from the chair and stepped a little closer to give him support.

Grantaire seemed to sober up suddenly and he eyed Enjolras for a second, before the wide grin appeared on his face again and he struggled to get to his feet. “You are a saint, Enjolras.” He spoke against his ear, as he crashed his body against Enjolras' for support. 

Enjolras almost collapsed under the sudden weight, but managed to keep both of them standing. Grantaire wrapped his another arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and finished his last bottle with the other. Even in his drunken mind, he noticed Matelote taking trays with her and head downstairs, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Are you finished?” Enjolras asked, a little frustrated, as Grantaire put the empty bottle to the table. 

“With what?” Grantaire asked, causing Enjolras to turn his head towards him with a confused expression. But before Enjolras could ask what he had meant, Grantaire had leaned forward and placed their lips together. It took him a moment to understand what was happening, but once he did, Enjolras quickly retreated backwards, trying to get as far away as possible from Grantaire. Unfortunately, Grantaire was not able to keep himself upright and he quickly grasped onto something, when his abutment disappeared, so he wouldn't fall down. And that something was the front of Enjolras’ shirt, so the man was unable to get away from him. When Grantaire realized he hadn't fallen and the horror of his latest action hit his consciousness, he buried his face against Enjolras' shirt, wanting nothing more than to die at that very moment. The following second, Grantaire only heard the sound of Enjolras’ rapid breathing and felt his chest fall and rise and his heart beat fast against his fists, closed around the fabric of his shirt. Then strong hands took hold of his arms and Enjolras pushed Grantaire away from him.

“Forgive me, Enjolras. Please, forgive me…” Grantaire repeated, so afraid that the friendship between them had ended. He wanted nothing more than to just be Enjolras' friend, just to see him every now and then, nothing else mattered. He stared somewhere between Enjolras’ nose and mouth, too scared to actually face his expression. Then, he saw Enjolras step closer. Grantaire lifted his face and prepared for that furious look and a hit of a fist, but instead he was met with unreadable expression in those hazel eyes. It was something Grantaire had never seen before and it took him by surprise. Before he could analyse what the gaze meant, Enjolras’ face was so close he could no longer fixate his eyes and then their lips were pressed together again. It was soft, but still determinate. Grantaire closed his eyes slowly and his lips parted slightly. Enjolras hands were on both sides of his head, holding tightly onto him. He licked Grantaire’s bottom lip and suck on it lightly. Grantaire lifted his hands, to caress through Enjolras' hair and opened his mouth even more. He felt Enjolras’ tongue slip against his teeth and he moved his head to get even closer to Enjolras, but then his lips met only air. Enjolras had taken a swift step back and Grantaire barely managed to keep himself standing. He had just enough time to see how horrified Enjolras looked, before he turned around and almost ran down the stairs, leaving Grantaire standing there alone, his arms still raised, as if he was still holding Enjolras’ body against his. 

Slowly, Grantaire let his hands descent and he stared at the opposite wall with blurry eyes. He barely understood what had just happened. Grantaire had never felt so empty in his life. It was like he had touched the most perfect moment in his life, rose so high, only to fall down fast and hit the ground. He didn't breathe, since the air had escaped his lungs with the impact. He only drew a breath, when his body screamed for it and a loud whimper escaped his mouth a she exhaled. He looked towards the direction Enjolras had gone to and wanted to scream for him to come back, to undo it all, but it was impossible. 

Grantaire ran a hand through his messy hair and swayed to and fro. His eyesight was blurry, as he finally made his way to the stairs and descent down, almost tripping Matelote on his way. She looked after him, wondering what had happened. It was not unusual to see Grantaire this drunk, but there was something new on his expression.

Grantaire headed straight home and collapsed to his bed. Thinking that his life was over. 

 

 

The rising of the next morning didn't make Grantaire feel any better. He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, where a lonely spider made a web for itself. Grantaire thought about last night. He wished he wouldn't remember what had happened, what he had done, but he did. No matter what or how much he drank, he never lost his memory. The moments were, of course, hazy in his mind, but he still remembered what Enjolras’ lips had tasted like and how their mouths had met each other. Grantaire remembered the feeling, like it had been the most perfect thing in the world, but now, when he lied in his bed and stared at the spider, he felt ashamed and angry with himself. How could he lack all self-control when it came to booze and Enjolras? He had sworn, that he would never approach Enjolras that way. Never. But he had and no matter how much he wished, he could never make it undone. 

Grantaire groaned in frustration and covered his face with his palms. He wished, he would never have to get up. After lying there for a moment longer, Grantaire came to a conclusion: he would have to talk to Enjolras and make sure they could remain friends. That was everything that mattered to him. So, he stood up, put on his clothes and headed towards Musain. 

Grantaire peered inside the café from the doorway. His eyes searched the, not so large, room until they stopped to the table where his friends sat. They came here, almost every morning, before going to university. Grantaire cleared his throat and swallowed. He walked towards the table, unable to move his gaze away from Enjolras’ turned back. 

“ _Bonjour_ , R!” Bahorel was the first to greet him. 

“ _Bonjour_.” Grantaire replied with a weak voice. He couldn’t help but glance towards Enjolras, as he sat down next to Bossuet. Their eyes met and to Grantaire’s relief, Enjolras nodded at him. He didn’t say a word, but he hadn’t ignored him either. It did make him feel a little better, but the tension between them was too much for him to handle and he knew he had to speak to Enjolras sooner or later. It was like a wall had been built up between them, a thick brick wall, which prevented them for seeing or understanding each other. It made Grantaire physically ill.

Grantaire was mostly quiet, while his friends talked about school and the dances last night, before they had retreated to Corinthe. Courfeyrac, who had accompanied Grantaire longest at the dances, had clearly stayed home. Eventually, they all agreed to leave, so they wouldn't miss their lecture. Grantaire lingered on the table, until everybody had stood up. He watched as Enjolras got to his feet. As he was about to turn around, to follow the other, Grantaire jumped up from his seat and took hold of Enjolras’ arm, prevented him from leaving.

“Enjolras, I… need to talk to you.” He mumbled, voice trembling.

Enjolras turned his head to look at him in confusion. Then his gaze dropped to Grantaire’s hand, still squeezing his arm. Grantaire quickly let go of him and put his hand down, nervously wiping the sweaty palm against his trousers, not quite sure what to do with his hands now. 

Enjolras licked his lips and the frown between his eyebrows deepened. “Yes?” He asked, sounding almost annoyed already.

Grantaire shifted nervously and looked around the café, grateful that there were only few people besides them and they were all sitting pretty far away. Also, their friends had gone outside and not stayed there, to ponder about their conversation.

“I… I wished to apologize for… last night. You know, the way I…” Grantaire had to close his eyes and swallow the lump down from his throat. The stern gaze in Enjolras’ eyes made him feel like the tiniest creature alive, like nothing. 

When he opened his eyes, he noticed that Enjolras was about to say something. Grantaire cut him off quickly. He needed to say what was on his mind, before Enjolras could damp him completely. 

“I was drunk. I did not know what I was doing.” Grantaire tried his best to explain, but the speech he had carefully put together in his mind while they were enjoying the breakfast, now disappeared completely and he had no chance of remembering any of it.

“Yes, you did.” Enjolras said back, calmly. Grantaire lifted his gaze to Enjolras’, this time it was him being confused. “For God’s sake, Grantaire!” Enjolras suddenly shouted, making Grantaire startle and all the others in the café turned to look towards them. “Can’t you stand behind for what you have done?” Enjolras continued, either not caring that they were stared at or not noticing it. Grantaire opened and closed his mouth like a fish on a dry land, trying to say something, but his voice died down before it could get out.

“Can’t you even accept your own feelings?” Enjolras now stepped closer to him and lowered down his voice. He stared into Grantaire’s eyes, waiting for an answer, but when Grantaire couldn’t come up with anything, he shook his head in disappointment, turned around and left the café. He loathed Grantaire, for not being able to stand behind his own actions. 

Grantaire watched him go, his mouth still hanging slightly open and his eyes blurry with exhaustion and sadness. He thought about following him, to join his friends for the lecture, but when he managed to move his legs and walk outside, they were already gone. Grantaire looked around for a moment longer. He must’ve looked like a lost tourist, when by-passers looked at him oddly. Grantaire paid them no attention and instead made his way home, collapsed to his bed and buried himself between the blankets. 

 

 

_1826_

_January_

During the months that followed, Enjolras treated him like air. Every time Grantaire entered the room, Enjolras either glanced towards him and quickly turned his head away, or just completely ignored his presence. It hurt Grantaire more, than he could ever imagine. Every morning, he thought about staying home for the day, but every morning he got up and left to university or Musain. He clung on to the smallest fraction of hope, that one day, Enjolras could forgive him, but every day that hope diminished more and more. 

At one of those days, when Grantaire walked up the stairs to the second floor of Corinthe, he saw Enjolras look towards him before lowering his gaze back to whatever he had been looking at before. Like Grantaire didn't even exist to him. It made his heart sting uncomfortably and his stomach turn around. With heavy steps, Grantaire made his way to a small table on the other side of the room, ordering wine from Matelote. 

“What is going on, R?” Grantaire looked up to see Combeferre sit down across from him.

“Whatever do you mean?” Grantaire decided to pretend dump and nodded in acknowledgement to Matelote, who brought him his bottle.

“You and Enjolras?” Combeferre clarified, even though he knew full well, that Grantaire knew what he was talking about. He had learned to read his friend like an open book. “You two have been actin weird towards each other for weeks now.”

“We just had a little argument. That is all.” Grantaire wasn’t exactly lying. He took a long sip from the bottle, struggling to swallow it all.

Combeferre sighed and scratched his head. “Grantaire…” He then said, reaching out to take his hand and making his friend concentrate on what he was about to say next. “I wish you could talk things through. Whatever happened between you two, it does not only affect you or him, but all of us. I can help you, if you wish so. You know how hard-headed Enjolras can be and he can often say harsh words, but rarely means them.”

Grantaire smiled gratefully to his friend. He squeezed Combeferre’s hand lightly, before withdrawing his own to under the table. “I appreciate it, Combeferre, but I do not believe words can fix this. I apologize.”

Combeferre eyed him for a moment longer before nodding. “Just remember that I am at your service, if you ever wish to talk to him, okay?”

Grantaire nodded and smiled tightly. “Okay.” He watched as Combeferre walked back to the table, where Enjolras and Courfeyrac were sitting. Jehan joined him when he came to the restaurant, even though Grantaire wasn’t the best of company at the moment, but Jehan didn’t seem to mind. He talked about his day like Grantaire was listening and even though Grantaire wasn’t, he was glad that Jehan gave him company and didn't mention anything about Enjolras. 

 

 

It was exactly three days after, when Grantaire, once again, walked up to the second floor of Corinthe. Preparing himself for another day, drinking himself to oblivion, while Enjolras would refuse to admit his existence. As he stepped over the last step and looked up to see Enjolras, Combeferre, Bossuet and Joly around their usual table, he noticed Enjolras turn his head towards him. Grantaire had no strength left, to face Enjolras' gaze and see him look through him like he had been staring at a wall. So, Grantaire cast his eyes down to the floor. He was about to head to the bar, when he heard Enjolras’ voice call out:

“Won’t you bring us some more water?”

It was as simple as that, just an innocent request, but it didn't quite dawn to Grantaire. He stopped to his tracks and lifted his gaze towards his friends.

“What?” He asked, with a frown on his face. His eyes fixated on Enjolras, who was looking at him. Actually looking at him, without looking away or staring through him. Grantaire wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He suddenly felt very naked, under the fierce gaze of Enjolras’ hazel eyes. “Are you talking to me?” Grantaire looked behind himself, to see if anyone had climbed up the stairs behind him without him noticing, but there were nobody.

“ _Oui_ , you.” Enjolras clarified with an amused smile. “Will you bring us the water while you are there or not?”

Grantaire stared into Enjolras’ eyes for a moment longer, before nodding and heading towards the bar. Step by step, he felt his spirit rise and a huge smile appeared on his lips. At that moment, he knew Enjolras had forgiven him. Their relationship would never be the same, he was aware of that, but Enjolras’ forgiveness was everything that mattered.


	9. The first revolution

_1826_

_April_

The _Les Amis de l’ABC_ had gathered around one of Corinthe’s tables. Their group of nine students, had soon begun to called by that name around the university and they had adopted it as their own. It had something to do with the initials of their names: during lectures the names of the students were, by some professors, called out in alphabetic order, based on their first names. Thus, the name: ABC. Which wasn’t very accurate, since their group missed the name which started with A, making the whole name a little silly for Grantaire’s taste. They had all been in a lecture that morning and had now come to the restaurant, feeling hungry and ready to relax. _Madame_ Hucheloup arrived to their table, to serve them the foods they had ordered. It seemed Matelote and Gibelote were busy elsewhere. All nine boys stared at their plates, filled with something that didn't quite look like food: the carp looked nothing like it used to and the smell was wrong as well.

“I think my carp is still alive.” Courfeyrac stated and poked his lunch with the fork. “What is wrong with old man Hucheloup today?”

After such an innocent question, no one could’ve expected _Madame_ Hucheloup’s reaction: she burst into tears. The whole group, which had been chatting cheerfully before that, silenced down and every eye turned to look at the woman in shock.

“Whatever is the matter?” Jehan asked worriedly and reached out to touch the _Madame’s_ hand.

“My husband, he…” Madame Hucheloup hickuped and blew her nose into a handkerchief she had ducked out of her pocket. “…he is dead!” She then cried out and sobbed again loudly. All the other customers started to turn their heads towards their table.

“Dead?” Grantaire gasped in horror. “But yesterday…” The man had been as rude the day before as always and had seemed to be full of life. Grantaire had thought the man would never die, just out of spite towards the whole world. 

“ _Oui_ , yesterday he was fine, today in the morning he was fine, but only for a minute. When he got out of bed, he fell to the floor, naked and dead.” Madame Hucheloup explained teary eyed.

Grantaire shook his head. He was certain, the mental image would haunt him for the rest of his life. How the knowledge, that old man Hucheloup had been naked while dying was relevant, he didn’t dare to ask.

“Our condolences.” Enjolras said from next to Grantaire. His voice was low and deep, but he didn’t sound sad or worried, like Jehan had did. It made him seem, like he lacked to be capable of that sort of emotions.

“ _Merci_ , Enjolras.” _Madame_ Hucheloup said gratefully. Then she looked down at the table, or more likely at their full plates of food. “Please, do not let my grieve take away your appetite. I have been working hard in the kitchen, together with Matelote and Gibelote.”

That explained the state of the food. They all turned to look at their peculiar meals in horror, knowing, that even one bite would most likely cast them to the bottom of the bed for the rest of the day, or even worse.

Grantaire glanced at _Madame_ Hucheloup and saw the woman look at him in expectation. Slowly and with a shaking hand, he took a fork and a huge piece from the fish, that had been placed in front of him. He was willing to sacrifice himself for he sake of others and more, for the sake of Enjolras. He didn't wish to see him die in such a painful and gruesome manner. The whole group hold their breaths, as they watched him raise the fork into his mouth.

Grantaire’s whole face turned pale, as he rolled the food in his mouth. Hesitantly, he bit down to the carp and a taste, he couldn't describe, filled his mouth.

“You like it?” _Madame_ Hucheloup inquired, as she examined Grantaire’s face carefully.

Somehow, Grantaire managed to swallow down the slimy piece of food. “It was… fascinating.” He replied with tears in his eyes and forced a smile on his face. His friends were certain, he would pass out at any second.

“Oh, I am glad to hear the food is alright! I have never learned to cook, since my husband did it ever so well.” _Madame_ Hucheloup told in delight. “I leave you to it.”

After _Madame_ Hucheloup had disappeared inside the kitchen, Grantaire bend over towards Enjolras and gagged loudly. Enjolras flinched further away from him, in case his friend would throw up on his lap. 

“I think, I am going to die tonight.” Grantaire bewailed loudly and slowly sat up again, his face still as pale as snow. He gulped down the glass of wine, which had been brought with the food, to conceal the taste.

“We shall mourn your passing.” Bahorel reached out to touch his hand across the table and squeezed it in compassion.

“We have to get rid of the rest of the food.” Grantaire said and looked at all the nine plates in horror. “Let’s throw them out of the window!” He then suggested and was about to stand up, when Enjolras stopped him:

“ _Madame_ Hucheloup would comprehend, that we did not like the food, if we merely throw it all away.” He explained calmly, glancing towards the closed door of the kitchen, before continuing: “We should separate everything eatable from the fishes.” He started to work with his own filled carp, scratching the meat and the content from the bones. “Joly, give me your cup.”

Joly handed his cup of soup to Enjolras, who dropped the insides of the fish into it. 

“Everyone else, do the same and we throw that out.” Enjolras gave the cup to Grantaire, who passed it around. As Joly got his meal back, he looked out of the window and threw the contest of the cup out to the street. They heard someone curse loudly, but otherwise their distraction was a success. 

Grantaire had taken a bottle of wine from Matelote’s tray, as she had passed by, and took a long gulp from it, trying to hide the taste that still lingered in his mouth, but in vain. “This is hell…” He mumbled and took another sip. “Bring me more, Matelote.” He said to the girl, who nodded and hurried downstairs to fetch Grantaire more to drink.

“Take it slowly.” Enjolras warned, but Grantaire didn’t seem to hear him.

“The taste won’t go away.” Grantaire’s voice started to slur already and he took yet another sip, to his empty stomach, as Matelote granted him with another bottle. 

Enjolras looked at him in disapproval and shook his head. Their mood had decreased greatly: everybody’s stomach empty and their minds on old man Hucheloup. The best, cheapest, meal on Paris, was now gone. It was the end of an era.

  

_July_

Grantaire slept soundly. The night was warm and he had kicked his duvet somewhere down to the foot of the bed. He had been drinking with Courfeyrac and Bahorel the previous night and had passed out almost immediately, once his head had hit the pillow, with full clothing. Grantaire wasn’t sure what woke him up first, but he was awake, when he felt the side of the bed bend slightly, like someone had just sit on it. He opened his eyes and tried to make out something in the dark room. He turned his head towards the side, when a dark figure crawled on top of him. Grantaire found himself staring into Enjolras’ eyes, which were unusually dark. He felt the breath seize in his lungs and he opened his mouth to ask what Enjolras was doing there, but not a sound came out. He wouldn’t have time to ask anything anyway, when Enjolras leaned down and covered Grantaire’s mouth with his. 

Grantaire could do nothing but lay there. With wide eyes, he stared at the ceiling and tried fiercely to get his brains to work and figure out what was happening. But his head was spinning and his eyes were tired and he couldn’t understand why Enjolras, of all people, was there and kissing him. Enjolras had taken a hold of his wrists and was pinning him down against the bed with his whole weight. Grantaire felt Enjolras’ tongue slide into his mouth. He closed his eyes and hungrily answered to the kiss, lifting his head from the pillow. He didn’t care, if this was real or not. Even if this was only his imagination, Enjolras was there, kissing him and Grantaire would’ve been a fool to stop him. 

Enjolras shifted a little, changing his position on top of Grantaire, to kiss him from another angle. Their groins brushed together, sending a wave of pleasure through Grantaire’s body and he couldn’t stop the reaction it caused. He feared Enjolras would pull away, but instead he shifted again and Grantaire let out a silent moan against his mouth. They were still kissing like their lives depended on it. Only occasionally, they parted their lips to get some air, panting loudly, their faces only inches away before they continued.

Enjolras was still holding onto Grantaire’s wrists, as he started to move his hips more firmly. Grantaire was able to feel Enjolras' erection against his own, through their trousers. He pushed his own hips upwards, to cause even more friction between them. This time it was Enjolras, who let out a moan. Grantaire had never heard anything so alluring in his life. He sucked on Enjolras' upper lip and in return Enjolras nibbled on his. A wave of pleasure hit Grantaire again, this time more vivid than before, making him gasp loudly and drop his head against his pillow. Enjolras kissed his jaw and thrust their hips together a few more times, until Grantaire lost it. He stared into those beautiful, hazel eyes and moaned in pleasure. He heard his own voice in his ears. He wasn’t sure what he was saying, but it seemed to snap Enjolras out of his trance. Grantaire watched Enjolras' eyes search through his, his movements had decreased, but Grantaire didn't notice it. Eventually, Enjolras leaned down to capture his lips once again and pressed their groins even tighter together. Grantaire was able to feel his body tense on top of him and he admired the feeling. After that, Enjolras laid there for a moment longer, breathing heavily against Grantaire's face, before suddenly rolling off from top of him. Grantaire was so tired and his head was spinning so fiercely , that he was unable to fight the sleep that overwhelmed him.

He woke up with a heavy headache and expected to deal with a horrendous muscle ache as well, but to his surprise, his body was relaxed. The image of Enjolras hovering on top of him and leaning down to kiss him, flashed into his mind and he was fully awake. He looked around, but the bed was empty. He was still wearing his clothes from last night and they felt extremely uncomfortable against his skin. He touched his groin and cursed under his breath. 

Grantaire sighed and laid his head back down to the bed. He must’ve dreamt it all. Of course he had. There was no way, Enjolras would sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night to make love to him. During his dream, he hadn’t even questioned if it had happened, but in the daylight of the morning, Grantaire knew it had been one of his dreams, which he would feel ashamed about the next time he laid eyes upon Enjolras. Why did he had to be this way? He thought miserably. Life would’ve been so much simpler, if he could just look at Enjolras and feel nothing. 

Eventually, Grantaire managed to get himself out of the bed. His head was spinning and his body shaking. His eyes found a half full bottle of wine on the table and he quickly downed a few gulps, feeling his condition improve slowly. He put the bottle under his bed and got up, wanting nothing more, than to change into clean clothing and maybe, he could forget his dream from last night and be able to face Enjolras today. 

As Grantaire was ready to leave, he glanced himself from the small mirror, hanging on his entryway. It was cracked from the middle and made it hard to actually see anything properly. But Grantaire didn't miss the way his eyes shone red and dark circles rounded them. His hair was pointing towards every direction again and he tried to comb them down, at least a little bit. He looked tired and disgusting, in every way. His hatred towards himself didn't cover only his appearance, it went much deeper. Grantaire hated himself for feeling this way about Enjolras. He hated how he fantasized about him almost every single nigh and hated the way he felt when he looked at Enjolras. He feared his longing showed on his face.

Finally, Grantaire looked away from the mirror and headed outside, hoping, that the fresh air would do him good. As he turned the handle, he noticed the door was locked, confirming his assumption, that Enjolras’ visit last night, had been nothing but a dream. It would've been impossible for Enjolras to get inside, if the door had been locked and Grantaire always locked his door, drunk or not.

 

 

Grantaire climbed up the stairs slowly, towards the second floor of Corinthe. Having an odd sense of déjà-vu, as he did so. He could hear footsteps hit the floor above him, followed with talking, laughing and singing, which indicated that everyone was there. It was their day off, after all. Grantaire had to swallow, when his throat suddenly felt painfully dry, as he took the last two steps and before he was upstairs. His eyes searched the crowd, mostly familiar faces, but he paid them no attention. Without his will, his eyes settled on the tall, fair-haired man standing at the other side of the room, in front of the window. Enjolras was leaning his palms against a table and was in a deep conversation with Combeferre and Feuilly. 

Then, like he had felt Grantaire staring at him, Enjolras lifted his head and looked straight at him. Grantaire felt his heart seize in his chest and he was unable to breathe. He could imagine the redness rise from his neck to his ears, for everyone to see. The seconds they stood there, watching each other while nothing happened, felt like an eternity. Then, Grantaire could swear, he saw something change in a way Enjolras was looking at him, like something had lit up in his eyes and the most unusual happened: Enjolras smiled. It was a small lift of the left side of his mouth, not like anything Grantaire had ever seen before and it made his head dizzy. In that minute, Grantaire knew, he hadn't imagined last night. It was a secret smile, which no one else could see or understand the meaning of. Then the moment was over, as Enjolras broke their eye contact and looked back down to his friends. 

Grantaire stared at Enjolras for a minute longer, before turning and shuffling to the furthest table of the room. 

“The usual, Grantaire?” The waitress, Matelote, asked the moment he sat down.

Grantaire thought for a moment, before a bright smile appeared on his face and he said with a loud voice, which definitely carried its way to the other end of the room: “No! Today is a cause of celebration!” He declared and was aware of everyone’s eyes turn to stare at him, but it didn't stop him: “I shall have your finest wine and share it with my friends.”

“On the way.” Matelote said and walked behind the counter. Their finest wine, was barely the most expensive of poor wines, compared to many other restaurants, but good enough for celebration, Grantaire thought.

“What are we celebrating?” Combeferre asked, making Grantaire look towards his direction. At the same time, he noticed Enjolras, who had now straightened his back and was staring at him without even blink of an eye, like he was anxiously waiting what Grantaire was about to say.

“Is it not obvious?” He asked, enjoying to see Enjolras squirm. “It is my birthday!” He finally answered and could see Enjolras physically relax and take a deep breath. The whole hall burst to words of congratulations and many lifted cups of wine for him. 

“To Grantaire! May he have many more years of merry drinking and the company of his friends! _Santé_!” Courfeyrac pronounced, lifting his glass.

“ _Santé_!” Echoed the whole room. Grantaire glanced towards Enjolras, almost shyly and saw him say it too and drink from his cup. The day had been unusual in every way and it ended the same: since Enjolras, who almost never drank anything but water, except with meals, took a sip from his cup of wine. He watched the red liquid disappear down to Enjolras' mouth with keen eyes. Grantaire's throat dried up again and he quickly took a swig from his own cup. 

It wasn't even Grantaire’s birthday, like everybody, from that day onward, believed. The truth was: he didn't even know when his birthday was. They had never celebrated one, as Grantaire was a child. He knew it was someday in September, nothing else. But he had needed an excuse to celebrate his good mood and the day Enjolras had smiled at him. So, from that day forward, Grantaire’s birthday was, to him, the day Enjolras had revolutionized his world.


	10. I do not want to drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably noticed, that I changed the title of the story. The first one was my working title, which I didn't get a change to upgrade earlier (in other words: I was too lazy to think of a new name). You may also notice, this is the first chapter which catches up with the book and I use some quotes from it. They probably stand out from my own writing. I have to be honest: I'm not as good with words as Hugo was. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

_1827  
September_

 

One day, Courfeyrac brought an unfamiliar young man with him to Corinthe. Enjolras paid him little attention, only glancing towards the man, or more like a boy, and continued his discussion with Combeferre and Jehan. The boy’s name was Marius and Courfeyrac had ran into him, together with Bossuet, a few days earlier. Courfeyrac introduced him to Enjolras and his other friends. Grantaire offered the boy a drink and told him a few jokes, but the boy was pretty serious. He reminded Grantaire a little bit of Enjolras: calm and collected, but in the end Enjolras had much more charisma and knew his way with words. Marius soon became a regular among the _Les Amis de l’ABC_. Grantaire noticed that Enjolras had taken him as his new project. Their little group had been together for years now and all the new people that came to their meetings already had the same beliefs, than the rest of them and since Enjolras had given up on Grantaire a long time ago, Marius was the perfect person to transmit his ideas to.

Most of the time, Marius joined them to the backroom of café Musain. The café’s owner let them take over the whole room at nights, since there weren’t many customers during that time of the day and the nine men consumed a lot of drinks and food, especially Grantaire. So, it was a good deal for both parties. Grantaire was certain it was thanks to him and often boasted about it, gaining eye-rolls from Enjolras. 

It was autumn of 1827 and the sun set early. In contrary of their usual nights, the friends were not spending their night at café Musain or Corinthe. It was one of the last warm days of the year and they wished to spend it outside. Enjolras was in a good mood: his mother hadn't invited him to any event for weeks and he had just finished a book, which he had been reading for the longest time and even Grantaire had stayed away from the alcohol. Enjolras had counted the days: fourteen exactly, which had to be Grantaire’s new record. It had happened many times before and Grantaire had always started again, sooner or later. Enjolras didn't have high hopes for him to stop completely now either, but he enjoyed the presence of a sober Grantaire from time to time. Although, now days, Grantaire was more quiet and tired looking, when he hadn’t had a drink for the day. Enjolras remembered he was more lively and smiling when they were children. 

“Grantaire, come on!” 

Enjolras lifted his gaze from the pavement, as he heard Courfeyrac shout at their friend. Grantaire had stayed behind from the rest of them and was looking towards something without even hearing their calls. Enjolras realized, he was staring towards Louvre. He hadn’t even noticed they had passed it by; he had been too consumed by his own thoughts. 

Grantaire shifted a little, as if he was about to run after them, but then decided against it. It seemed, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the building. “Can we…?” Grantaire’s voice trailed off and he licked his lips, finally turning to look at them. “Can we go in? It has been too long, since I visited Louvre.” 

The friends looked at each other and then at Enjolras, who kept his eyes on Grantaire, considering his suggestion. Grantaire looked back at him, almost pleadingly and eventually Enjolras nodded. Who was he to deny it from Grantaire, since he had certainly deserved something nice after the last two weeks. Grantaire’s eyes lit up and a wide smile appeared on his face. It made Enjolras smile a little as well and the group walked together inside Louvre. 

Grantaire was like a little child again, he rushed from painting to painting, trying to observe it all in one go. Enjolras followed him silently. He enjoyed to see paintings, but couldn't understand what was so magnificent in these, compared to the paintings that artists sold on the streets for food. He did enjoy and respected the detailed paintings of historical events and religion, such as Bonaparte visiting the plague victims in Jaffa and St. Michael. 

They walked around for hours, until a guard came to chase them away. As they stepped outside again, Grantaire’s tired expression had changed to joy and he kept on talking about Leonardo da Vinci and other famous painters. 

“We should head to Corinthe, if we still wish to get something to eat.” Bahorel changed the subject, expecting Grantaire to get mad at him for disturbing his rambling, but he had barely even noticed Bahorel had talked. 

“You are right.” Combeferre agreed and they settled to listen at Grantaire for the rest of the way. 

“Did you know, that there is two different painting of the Fortune Teller? Both by the same artist: Caravaggio.” Grantaire rambled on, but his story started to pique some interest. “The first painting is from 1594 and is now in Rome, if I remember correctly. The painting in Louvre was made only a year later, since Caravaggio had to sell the first one with a low price. The first one is bigg-”

Grantaire’s voice trailed off and he stopped once again, but this time he was staring at a backalley they had just passed by.

“What is it?” Jehan walked next to Grantaire and stayed to stare at the same direction. “Is he dead?”

This time, all the others rushed to the two friends’ side and peeked towards the dark alleyway. There, in fact, was a man sitting on the ground and leaning against the brick wall. His face was turned towards them and they could all see his dead, cold eyes staring at emptiness. Enjolras was the first one to approach the corpse. He had never actually seen a dead person before. Yes, he had seen the body of his father at the funeral, before the coffin had been shut, but by then the body had been carefully taken care of and apart from pale face and blue lips, Enjolras hadn't seen any difference between the dead and the living, but this man’s body was covered with blood and as Enjolras walked closer, he almost stepped on part of his brains laying on the ground. 

“Suicide.” Joly whispered next to his ear, almost startling him. “He is holding a gun.” 

Enjolras looked towards the direction Joly was pointing and saw the man holding a revolver in his hand. 

“I have never seen a dead man before.” Combeferre confessed, with a little nervous voice, but he seemed fine. 

Enjolras looked towards him and his eyes were caught by Grantaire, who stood behind Combeferre. He was still staring at the dead man and much like his: Grantaire’s face was pale, almost white. Enjolras was sure he would soon pass out, since it looked like he wasn’t breathing either.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras called out, but got no response. “Grantaire!” He tried a little louder this time and Grantaire’s eyes shot up at him. 

“Have you seen a dead person before?” Feuilly asked from Grantaire. He took it calmly and it seemed Feuilly had seen quite a lot worse in his life as an orphan, which didn’t surprise Enjolras.

“You did see your aunt, did you not?” Courfeyrac continued the line of Feuilly’s questioning.

“Yeah.” Grantaire said with a hoarse voice and he cleared his throat. “Yes, that is it. I cannot get it out of my mind.” He repeated and his eyes drew back to meet the dead man’s gaze.

Enjolras was certain Grantaire was lying, but he didn't wish to bring it up, while the others were around. So, he ushered them to continue their way and suggested that, if they saw a police officer or a neighbor close by, they should tell them what they had seen, so the man wouldn't have to lie there till morning. 

Enjolras deliberately lagged behind from the others and walked with the same pace beside Grantaire, who still looked a little spooked. 

“You were not so upset just because of your aunt, were you not?” Enjolras questioned and kept his gaze fixated on Grantaire, to see his reaction.

Grantaire looked up at him, as if he hadn't noticed Enjolras walking beside him. Grantaire then shook his head. “I told you, the body just reminded me of her.” He lied again and quickly looked away.

Enjolras was about to encourage Grantaire to tell him more, but Bossuet interrupted him: “Enjolras! We decided to split up: some of us shall go to the nearest police office and other’s straight at home. You want to come with me and Joly?”

“Very well.” Enjolras said and turned towards Grantaire, to ask him to accompany them.

“I am going home.” Grantaire said with a low voice and headed away, without even a wave of a hand. Enjolras feared, he had stuck his nose somewhere, where it didn’t belong and thus, Grantaire wished to leave his company as soon as possible. He decided to let Grantaire be and would talk to him tomorrow about a total different subject, to get his mind elsewhere.

 

 

The next morning rose much colder than the day before. Enjolras was happy to spend the night inside café Musain, instead of outside and so was everyone else. Grantaire had joined them, together with Bahorel and Enjolras noticed him staring at his friend’s glass longer than he should have. He was about to walk up to him and draw his attention away from the drinking, when Combeferre demanded his attention. He wished to know Enjolras’ opinion about a chapter in their study book, which could’ve waited until later, but Enjolras wished to discuss about it before his mind was taken elsewhere. He meant to make it short, but it turned out to drag to hours long conversation and when Enjolras started to pay more attention to their surroundings, he noticed Grantaire, still sitting with Bahorel and Bossuet but with a bottle of wine in his hand.

Enjolras locked eyes with him and knew, that Grantaire understood what he was thinking. The disappointment shone from Enjolras’ eyes, so clearly, that it would’ve been impossible for Grantaire not to take yet another gulp from his bottle. He diverted Enjolras' gaze and finished his bottle, after which he started to sing with melancholy tune: 

“ _Oh, can’t you see that snow white dove; She flies from pine to pine. Just mourning for her own true love  
The way I mourn for mine. Look down, look down that long, lonesome road. Hang down your head and cry. The best of friend are sure to part. So why not you and I?_ ”

Enjolras felt chills go down his spine. He was glad to see Courfeyrac enter the café with Marius and so, he got something else to think about, than Grantaire’s pathetic and miserable drinking. 

“I am thirsty.” It didn't take long, for Grantaire to reach that state of his drunkenness, where he started to ramble about nothing at particular. It would’ve been fine, if he hadn't been shouting his lungs out and disturbing everyone else at the same time: “I want a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention of I know not whom. It lasts not time at all, and is worth nothing. One breaks one’s neck in living. Life is a theater set in which there are but few practicable entrances. Happiness is antique reliquary painted on one side only.” 

Bossuet, sitting closest to Grantaire, tried to silence him with the raising of his hand, but it only provoked Grantaire to speak even louder. Enjolras was glad, he was at the other side of the room. Grantaire went on and on and somehow ended up to Cleopatra, until Bossuet lost his temper: “Silence then, capital R!” 

That name about Grantaire was used only, when someone got angry at him, expect for Enjolras. Grantaire murmured something more, but then fell to silence, clearly nearing his end of intoxication for one night. But Enjolras was wrong, since as Grantaire saw Joly and Bahorel starting a game of domino, he quickly joined them, forgetting his self-pity for a minute or two. His friends were talking about their love lives, or mainly Bahorel phrased his girl from ground to heavens. Grantaire remembered Joly talking about his girl the day before and wondering why she was upset with him.

“Jolllly, where do you stand in your entanglement with _Mamselle_ , you know whom I mean?” Grantaire wanted to tease Joly a little bit, since teasing Bahorel never lead to anything fun. The man knew Grantaire’s plot way too well.

“She sulks at me with cruel patience.” Joly said, still looking at loss of why he was treated this way. 

“In your place, I would let her alone.” Grantaire granted him with a good piece of advice.

“That is easy enough to say.” Joly said back, not listening to Grantaire’s wise words, thinking he knew nothing about keeping women happy.

“And to do. Is not her name Musichetta?” Bahorel was the one to ask. Grantaire smiled at his words. He had no problem of leaving women to be by themselves.

The conversation built up around this magnificent Musichetta for a long while, as Joly phrased her much the same way as Bahorel had phrased his girl earlier. Grantaire gave snarky remarks every now and then, amusing himself with their silly love-struck minds. But when it was time to go home again, Grantaire was reluctant to leave. He knew what was waiting for him there and the victory from domino would not keep his spirit up all the way back home. Still, he was forced to say goodbye to Bossuet and Joly, as they left to buy Musichetta some flowers and Bahorel, who wanted to go and curl next to his love in bed. 

Grantaire ordered another bottle and drank it silently. There was still Enjolras, Marius and Courfeyrac remaining, but he didn't wish to intrude on their intense looking conversation. So, he sat in the corner, together with Jehan, who had poured his soul on paper just a little while ago. They had no desire to exchange words. Grantaire kept glancing across the room. Whenever he saw Enjolras turn his head, he quickly looked away, knowing what Enjolras would think of him. However, once, since his reaction was not so sharp as at the beginning of the bottle, Enjolras managed to lock eyes with him. Grantaire almost panicked and wanted to look away, but couldn’t. But instead of hatred or disgust, there was something else in his eyes, almost like pity but a little softer. Sadness perhaps? 

“Jehan, do not leave!” Grantaire pleaded, as Jehan made a move to stand up.

“I cannot make it home, if I continue at the same pace with you.” Jehan slurred and then patted Grantaire’s shoulder. “You are a good man… with drinking.” He then said and made his way out. 

Grantaire watched him go and thought about getting up as well. He was pathetic, he knew that, but not so pathetic that he would stay here alone, while Enjolras and the others were having a good time at the other side of the room. He put a little bit of his weight to his feet, but realized soon, he was not in condition to walk home yet. So, he decided to drink the rest at home and wait until his legs could carry him there. Meanwhile, his eyes traveled back at Enjolras who was, once again, concentrated talking with the others. Grantaire thought he was quite happy there, as long as no one paid him any attention. Although, soon both: Marius and Courfeyrac, started to make their leave. 

“See you tomorrow, R!” Courfeyrac called out to Grantaire and lifted his hand for a goodbye.

Grantaire waved back at him absentmindedly, mumbling something at the same time. He looked at his bottle and wondered, if he should just drink it here and pass out. A shadow suddenly cast over it and Grantaire heard footsteps near his table. He looked up to see Enjolras standing there and looking down at him with that same look in his eyes than earlier. It puzzled Grantaire and not in a good way. He could take the anger and hatred, even pity, but not this something he couldn’t be sure what it was. 

“Can I sit down?” Enjolras asked and placed his hand to the backrest of the chair opposite from Grantaire. The question surprised Grantaire even more, so the only thing he could do was to nod. The chair scratched the wooden floor, as Enjolras drew it out and sat onto it. 

Grantaire stared somewhere between his bottle and Enjolras, feeling his gaze at him. “What is wrong with you?”

The question made Grantaire’s heart squeeze uncomfortably and he closed his eyes. Enjolras hadn't asked it out of concern. His tone was more like loathing than anything else, making Grantaire feel sick. 

“Answer me.” Enjolras voice softened a little, but his gaze still poured through Grantaire.

“I do not know.” Grantaire answered, not knowing what Enjolras was after with his question. Everything was wrong with him. Surely Enjolras could see that and had known from the first day they had met. 

“Yes, you do. Tell me.” Enjolras insisted, but when he still couldn’t get an answer, he started to pressure him: “You talk about want to forget life. That it is worth of nothing. You wish to drink yourself to oblivion. Is that all you see in life?” Enjolras paused again, but still got no answer. Grantaire kept his eyes locked at the surface of the table. “You wish to kill yourself?” This time Grantaire flinched. “Because that is what you are doing.” Enjolras’ voice started to rise along with his anger. “You drink, so you can forget and slowly kill yourself. Is that life at all?” Enjolras was shouting now and Grantaire still wouldn't look him in the eye. “You are a coward, who does not want to live with his memories. If that is it, then why do you not just hang yourself and be done with it?” 

A heavy silence surrounded them. Only Enjolras breathing broke it, as he calmed down, little by little. Grantaire still stared at the surface of the table. Enjolras knew he had gone too far, that the most decent thing would've been to apologize, but he did not. 

Finally, Grantaire looked up at him and let out a humorless laugh, which send shivers down Enjolras’ spine. Grantaire shifted his gaze at the ceiling and leaned against the backrest of his chair, licking his lips. “If you had gone through, what I have in this life…” He started and paused for a moment. Then he lowered his gaze and stared straight at Enjolras. “…you would be in the same situation as me.”

“Then tell me.” Enjolras pleaded once again. He couldn't understand and at least part of him wanted to. 

Grantaire shook his head fiercely. Enjolras saw a tear escape his eye. Then Grantaire sobbed loudly, which he tried to cover as laughter and he quickly wiped the tear away. 

“Maybe, if you tell someone, it could get better.” Enjolras voice was soft now, almost caring.

Grantaire let out a panicked laugh, sounding like an animal chased to a corner. “No.” He managed to choke out and shook his head again. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Enjolras trying to understand, reaching out to Grantaire, to help him and Grantaire, unable to speak out about something he had bottled up inside himself for so long. 

Grantaire knew, that what happened in his past was the cause for him to start drinking, but the cause he continued, sat right there in front of him. 

“No one else can cure you, but yourself.” Enjolras said then, with almost defeated tone, one which Grantaire had never heard before.

 _No one else but you_ , Grantaire thought as he gazed into Enjolras’ hazel eyes. _Just one word and I would stop_. He meant every word, but couldn't speak them out. He knew he needed for Enjolras to say them, but he never did.

“I cannot.” Grantaire said eventually. “It feels, like I am drowning. Like I am surrounded by this darkness and when I try to scream, not a sound comes out. It is like I am suffocating.” Grantaire remembered the time he had jumped into the Seine after Enjolras. The feeling of the water surrounding him and drawing him to its depths.

Enjolras leaned over the table and his hands slid closer to Grantaire’s, but not close enough to touch. He locked his eyes with him and Grantaire wished his last words had been enough for him. “You are pulling me down with you, but I do not want to drown.” Enjolras said and gazed Grantaire with sad eyes.

Grantaire couldn't do anything else, but to stare back. Then Enjolras looked away and stood up. Without any more words exchanged between them, Grantaire watched Enjolras walk away. For the first time in his whole pitiful life, Grantaire felt like he was truly alone. The water pulled him down and no one could reach out to save him, no even if they tried. Grantaire burst out crying.


	11. We joyed to meet and grieved to part

_1827  
September_

 

Enjolras kept himself busy for the next few days. He told himself, it was only because his mother needed his help to entertain her guests. So, he slept in his old room and returned to his old life. But only after three days, he began to remember exactly why he had wanted to get out of there in the first place. He got murderous glances from his stepfather and his mother talked on and on about how happy she was to have him home and "on the right path in his life", as she put it. Enjolras felt like suffocating. 

So, in the fourth day, he packed up his things, said goodbye to his mother and moved back to his own apartment. He headed straight to café Musain, where he suspected the others to be at that time of the day. But he was only met by Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Others joined them, one by one, in the following hour. Enjolras was glad to be in the company of his friends and not talk about dinner parties and marriages. But as time went by, he noticed one of them missing.

“Is Grantaire joining us?” Enjolras questioned from the others, trying to sound casual.

“No idea.” Bahorel replied loudly, as he played domino with Joly. They filled the absence of Grantaire with equally loud talking. Enjolras looked at Bahorel with a frown on his face.

“What do you mean?” He then asked and got only a shrug for a response.

“We have not seen him for days.” Courfeyrac was the one to explain, without a care in the world. “He is probably spending his time in bed, drinking and enjoying some woman’s company.” He then laughed and Enjolras tried to force a smile on his face as well.

Enjolras tried to focus back to the conversation they were having, but found himself unable to do so. His mind kept repeating the cruel words he had said to Grantaire three nights earlier and his insides turned uncomfortably. As Bahorel and Joly went to get something to drink, Enjolras turned towards Courfeyrac.

He hesitated for a moment, before letting the words out of his mouth and felt the burden in his chest lighten a little: “The night Grantaire was last here, we had a fight.” 

Courfeyrac only looked at him, as if he had already known it. “Is there something wrong with you?” He asked instead of questioning what the fight had been about. 

Enjolras almost told him what he had said to Grantaire, but then decided against it. “Nothing is wrong.” He said instead and turned his gaze away. He waited for Joly and Bahorel to return, until he got up and excused himself.

Enjolras felt their eyes on him, as he left the café, but didn't care. He headed towards Grantaire’s apartment, hearing only one sentence in his head: why do you not just hang yourself? It made him sick and he hastened his steps, almost bumping into an older woman crossing the street. She yelled something after him, but he couldn't hear her.

As he finally arrived to Grantaire’s door, he immediately knocked on to it, several times, before waiting for an answer. There was only silence. “Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted and knocked again, this time louder, but still got nothing for reply. He took a step back from the door and started to go through his pockets. He took out a rusty old nail and a needle. Then he stepped closer to the door and reached out towards the lock, but then he stopped. He wondered, if he had even tried the handle. He lifted his hand and turned it and the door clicked open. Enjolras put the things back to his pocket and rushed inside. 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted. He had barely taken two steps inside, when he stopped. He was faced with a stuffy apartment and Grantaire sitting in the middle of it, painting. Grantaire didn't even lift his gaze from his work, only hushed him and continued to move his brush. He was painting to a large canvas and since the work was almost done, Enjolras could see he was painting a scenery from under water. Enjolras could easily imagine himself: diving underneath a water and looking up to see the sunlight hit the surface, which never reached the bottom. That was exactly what Grantaire’s painting showed. 

For a moment, Enjolras watched him in amaze, when he felt the anger and frustration fill his guts. “Have you any idea how long you have been here just painting?” He asked, sounding more angrier than he had intended to be.

Grantaire shrugged. “A day or two perhaps.” He then guessed and did one last draw with his brush, before lowering it down. “It is done.” He then said and finally looked at Enjolras. “Why are you here?”

“I just…” Enjolras watched him for a moment before shaking his head and swallowing his words. Grantaire was pale and dark circles rounded his eyes, which were red from the lack of sleep, but he didn't look sad anymore. Like he had managed to transform some of that feeling into the canvas. Enjolras thought he understood art a little better. 

His eyes drew to the painting and he stared at it for a moment longer. Then he looked back at Grantaire, who was still eyeing him carefully, like he couldn’t decide what to think of his sudden visit. Enjolras set his jaw and strode to Grantaire, taking a hold from his collar with both of his hands and leaning down to press their lips together.

Grantaire let out a surprised sound and drew a deep breath through his nose. He then took hold of Enjolras’ neck to keep him close. Enjolras waited for Grantaire to part his lips for him, which he did fairly quickly and he slid his tongue inside his mouth and then sucked to his lower lip. Enjolras sat on Grantaire’s lap, keeping their mouths tightly together and bringing their hips against each other. Grantaire sighed in satisfaction and ran his hands down from Enjolras’ neck to his hips to keep him there. But then Enjolras broke the kiss and stood up quickly. Grantaire was horrified to think he would leave now, but instead Enjolras pulled him up with him from the collar of his shirt and started to drag him towards the bed. 

As they were only a step away from it, Enjolras pulled Grantaire’s shirt over his head, before pulling him back for a kiss. He swirled them around and fell to the bed on top of Grantaire. Enjolras devoured his mouth once again, before moving down to kiss his neck. Grantaire stared at the ceiling and concentrated on Enjolras lips against his neck and his strong hands moving from his chest down to his lower stomach. The sensation made him shiver all over and all his blood ran down his body. Enjolras hands had reached the waist of his trousers and now his other hand slid inside and cupped Grantaire, making him gasp. He arched his back and lifted his hips to get even closer to Enjolras, who kept on kissing his skin, getting lower and lower. Grantaire closed his eyes and felt Enjolras’ hand move over his cock. Then his trousers were pulled down and he felt Enjolras’ mouth cover him. 

“Apollo!” Grantaire gasped before he was able to stop himself. He froze when he realized what he had just blurted out of his mouth and waited for Enjolras to stop and look at him in disgust. He feared he had crossed the unspoken line, but Enjolras had either not noticed, or did not care. Either way, Grantaire was relieved and he closed his eyes again to enjoy the moment.

Enjolras rarely did this to him. If Grantaire had kept a count, this would have been the third time. Enjolras’ other hand caressed his thigh and other laid flat on his stomach, holding him still. Grantaire felt the pleasure build up inside him. His breathing got more frantic and he reached down to grasp the back of Enjolras’ hand, letting him know. Enjolras usually pulled away and worked him over the edge with only his hand, but this time he didn't. Grantaire opened his mouth to warn him, but he only managed to moan and his vision blurred. It took him a while to get his thoughts back together, but when he did, Enjolras had sat up next to him on the bed and wiped his mouth to his sleeve. Grantaire was about to apologize, when he noticed that Enjolras didn't seem angry.

Grantaire smiled, feeling completely satisfied, when his eyes landed between Enjolras’ legs, where his trousers were still bulging. Grantaire looked up at Enjolras’ eyes and when he looked back at him, he pulled Enjolras down to join their lips together again. Then he slid his hand inside Enjolras’ trousers and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Enjolras gave him little pecks for multiple times, occasionally separating their lips to let out a silent gasp before continuing to kiss him. As Grantaire felt Enjolras’ body tense on top of him, he kept their lips tightly together, enjoying the feeling of Enjolras’ moan vibrating against his lips. 

Grantaire relaxed against the bed, feeling totally exhausted. He couldn’t even remember when he had last slept or how long. Enjolras stayed on top of him only for a second or two, eyeing him carefully, before rolling to his side. Grantaire noticed a smudge of dark-blue color on Enjolras’ cheek and looked down to his hands, which were covered with paint and sperm. 

Enjolras seemed to notice the same thing, since he got up and dipped a clean cloth inside a kettle of water, before coming back and almost roughly cleaning Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire observed him and thought, this was the nicest thing Enjolras had ever did to him. It made him feel cared and it warmed his heart. Enjolras cleaned himself up too, but missed the dark stain on his face.

“Wait.” Grantaire said as he was about to get up again. “Give it to me.” He reached out his hand towards the cloth. Enjolras looked down at it with a frown, but eventually gave it to him. Grantaire lifted his hand to Enjolras' face and he would've startled away from his touch, if Grantaire hadn’t stopped him: “Stay still. Unless you wish to go outside with paint on your face.”

Enjolras did as he was told and waited patiently until Grantaire was done. “There. It dried up quickly, but at least it is less visible now.”

Enjolras nodded and put the cloth away. He walked around Grantaire’s apartment and stopped in front of the painting, looking at it for a long while. Grantaire couldn't care less what Enjolras thought about his work, but he watched Enjolras' face, marveling the beauty of it. He still couldn't understand, why this man was inside his dirty apartment and looking at his painting, but he accepted it for how it was and loved every minute of it.

“Why did you not apply to study arts?” Enjolras suddenly asked. He had wanted to ask it, ever since Grantaire had told him he would come and study law with the others. It had puzzled Enjolras, but he had never got around to ask Grantaire about it. Now that he looked at Grantaire’s painting, he remembered how good he was. It really made the spectator feel like he was under water, but it was not all the painting was, it made Enjolras feel suffocated and like the surface was too far from his reach. 

“Why would I have done that?” Grantaire answered him with a question.

Enjolras finally tore his eyes away from the painting and looked at Grantaire with a deep frown on his face. “You have talent for it, you cannot see?” 

Enjolras didn't make it sound like a compliment, but that was the nicest thing Grantaire had ever heard him say to him and he couldn't help but smile, just a little. “It may be. But painting is only something I do whenever I feel like it. It is not something I would wish to study.” Grantaire tried his best to put his thoughts to words, so Enjolras could understand him. 

Enjolras seemed to ponder about it for a moment, before nodding. He wasn't sure, if he understood what Grantaire meant by it. “So, instead you wish to study law?” Enjolras’ voice was wary and he looked back at the painting.

There was a long silence. Grantaire didn't have to think about his answer, since he knew it very well himself, but he wasn't sure what he should tell Enjolras. “No.” He replied eventually.

Enjolras’ mouth opened, but then he closed it. He wanted to ask why, but he was quite certain, he already knew the answer.

 

 

_1829  
November_

 

Enjolras heard the moment Grantaire entered Corinthe. 

“ _As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be, I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be…_ ” His singing echoed through the whole restaurant and Enjolras already gave up on finishing his book. 

“ _Well, I called me wife and I said to him..._ ” Did he just sing ‘him’? Enjolras was certain, he had only heard wrong. “ _Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?_ ” Sure enough, the singing came closer and Enjolras soon heard footsteps climbing up the stairs and Grantaire emerged to the top.

“ _Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see! That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me! Well, it's many a days I've traveled a hundred miles or more, but a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before!_ ” Grantaire finished the song, as he stepped over the last stair. 

Enjolras looked over at him with an annoyed look, which made Grantaire’s smile grew even wider. 

“Oh, Enjolras, you have no idea how much you miss in life.” Grantaire sighed as he pranced closer, now humming the song.

“I am certain we have diverse thoughts about missing something in life.” Enjolras replied, suddenly feeling very thirsty. He got up and headed towards the bar, where the waitress had left a can of water for him earlier. 

“Do not be such a drab.” Grantaire cut Enjolras' path and before he was able to ask him to move, he took Enjolras’ hands in his and swirled them both around, continuing to sing a different song: “ _Drunk last night! Drunk the night before! Gonna get drunk tonight, like I never been drunk before! For when I’m drunk I’m as happy as can be! For I am a member of the Souse family!_ ”

Enjolras started to feel dizzy and the took a staggering steps backwards. Fortunately, Grantaire let go of his hands and swirled around alone for a moment longer. Enjolras wondered how he could stay upright and he was drunk as well. 

“ _Singing Glo-ri-ous! Glo-ri-ous! One keg of beer for the two of us! Singing glory be to God that there are no more of us; For one of us could drink it all alone!_ ” Grantaire danced his way to one of the tables and sat on top of it.

Enjolras still heard him sing, as he went to pour himself that glass of water, but couldn't make out the words. It was a calmer tune, at least.

“ _We joyed to meet and grieved to part. We sighed when night came on. We went to rest with longing heart. For the coming of the bright day dawn._ ” Grantaire sang silently, as he eyed Enjolras’ turned back. He quickly looked down to his hands, when Enjolras turned around and continued a little clearer: “ _We roamed the fields and river sides. When we were young and gay. We chased the bees and plucked the flowers. In the merry, merry month of May._ ” 

Grantaire hadn't heard Enjolras coming closer, he only noticed him when Enjolras stood right in front of him. Grantaire lifted his gaze to look up at Enjolras, confused of why he would suddenly come so close. But he had no time to question him, when all he saw was Enjolras’ eyes cast down towards his mouth and then his lips covered Grantaire’s.

For a second or two, Grantaire was frozen to the spot, just staring at Enjolras’ closed eyes and his fair hair. He only came to, when he felt Enjolras open his mouth slightly and his tongue brush against his lips, asking for a way in. Without any hesitation, Grantaire parted his lips and met Enjolras’ tongue midway. Painfully slowly, questions started to form inside his head: why now and most importantly: why here? 

Enjolras was standing between Grantaire’s legs and now pressed his body even closer. He shifted a little, so the angle of the kiss changed, making it possible for him to keep an eye on the staircase. He knew no one would be coming upstairs, since the waitress had kindly let him use the second floor all by himself, so he could study in peace. But studying wasn’t going to succeed, as long as Grantaire was there to distract him. 

Grantaire ran his hands slowly, first against Enjolras’ arms and then against his back. These moment were so rare and felt so unreal, that he wanted to memorize everything he could, like the feeling of Enjolras’ muscles underneath his clothes. But his senses were too filled to remember it all, no matter how hard he tried to focus on everything at once: like Enjolras' tongue against his, how he tasted like a hint of a red wine, the smell of his hair and his hands… gliding down between his legs. Grantaire let out an unintentional sigh, as Enjolras ran his hand against his crotch, breaking the kiss at the same time. 

“But…” Grantaire had just enough sense left inside his head, that he needed to question the time and location they were doing this, but Enjolras just cut him off:

“ _Chut_!” He ordered and Grantaire obeyed. He trusted that Enjolras wouldn't let anyone see them. 

Enjolras hands now found their way to the waist of his trousers. Grantaire leaned back against his arms so he was able to lift his body up from the table and Enjolras could pull the trousers lower. As Enjolras started to lower his own pants, Grantaire took the opportunity to spit into his palm. Enjolras looked up with a little frown on his face, but soon understood why Grantaire had done that, when he took Enjolras’ cock into his hand.

Enjolras pressed himself between Grantaire’s legs and eyed him for a moment longer to see if he would refuse, but Grantaire was only smiling at him. Grantaire prepared himself for the pain, even though in his drunken state, he wouldn’t probably even feel much of it. He bit his lower lip, when Enjolras pushed inside him, but after he relaxed his muscles, the pleasure mixed with pain and he had to struggle to keep his voice down. Grantaire draw sharp breaths between his teeth. Enjolras breathed heavily, his fingertips sinking into Grantaire’s hips, keeping him still. The wooden table squeaked under Grantaire’s weight and scratched the floor slightly, during every push. Those were normal voices inside Corinthe, at least when someone like Grantaire was there getting himself drunk, but Enjolras still kept glancing towards the staircase. Soon however, even his focus started to get dimmer and his gaze drifted to Grantaire more often. Grantaire’s left hand squeezed Enjolras’ bottom, while the right one came to cup his neck and pulled him down for a sloppy and hasty kiss. Grantaire’s moan was muffled by Enjolras' mouth, as he came and after one last push, Enjolras got his pleasure as well, gasping silently. He felt Grantaire’s breath against his mouth, as he slowly started to get his grip back from the world around them. Grantaire loved to see Enjolras’ carefully build facade crumble. It didn’t matter, if it was because of making love or making Enjolras angry. Either way, Grantaire loved to be the cause of it. He tried to place their lips together again, but Enjolras pulled his head away slightly. However, this time Grantaire was persistent and he followed his movement, to place their lips together. Enjolras didn't respond to it, but that didn’t seem to mind Grantaire.

“Come home with me.” Grantaire whispered as he watched Enjolras took a step back and correct his outfit.

“I cannot. I have an essay to write.” Enjolras replied, absentmindedly, keeping his gaze at the staircase. 

Grantaire glanced towards it as well, before pulling his trousers up. They were uncomfortably dirty from the inside, since Enjolras had only exposed his back side, but he didn't complain. He wouldn’t change what had happened for anything in this world. 

Enjolras returned to the table, where his books laid open and made an effort to start concentrating back to his task. He felt Grantaire eye him for a bit longer, before he heard footsteps retreat towards the staircase and a voice sing: “ _We went to rest with longing heart. For the coming of the bright day dawn._ ”

Then the footsteps stopped and Grantaire’s voice carried into his ears: “Goodnight, Apollo.”

Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire descend the stairs and disappear out of sight. He waited for a minute longer, before he looking out of the window to see Grantaire prancing down the street, still singing: “ _We joyed to meet and grieved to part. We sighed when night came on. We went to rest with longing heart. For the coming of the bright day dawn._ ”

Enjolras shook his head and continued reading, he heard Grantaire whistling all the way to the end of the street, after it finally faded away.

“My apologies, Enjolras.” Enjolras startled the woman’s voice next to him. The waitress, whose name he couldn't recall, had emerged by his side and offered him a bottle of wine.

“What for?” Enjolras asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She seemed a little nervous, making him wonder if she had seen him and Grantaire.

“I was the one to let Grantaire in, even though I knew you do not like him, especially when he is drunk, but I did not know what to say to make him go away.” She explained, looking between the bottle and Enjolras. She had brought it in chance that he would forgive her.

“Oh, that is quite all right. I do not mind Grantaire’s presence.” Enjolras replied, as he looked down to the bottle and shook his head slightly, before getting drawn back to his studies. He still wondered why she would think he hated Grantaire, but in the end, he didn’t care what she thought.

Gibelote watched at Enjolras for a moment longer, feeling a little ashamed for first breaking Enjolras’ trust not to let anyone inside and now offering a pitiful bottle of wine, as if it could make her betrayal go away. With a shy smile, she disappeared back downstairs, leaving Enjolras alone.


	12. Meet me halfway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for not updating until now. My Word decided to stop working, so it's been quite a struggle to get the text here. And you've probably noticed, that I don't give Marius much credit in this story. I admit: I didn't care for him in the movie, but I hated him in the book. So, he hovers around, but I promise that he gets at least a little bit more time from the story in the future.

_1830  
July_

At the 27th of July, tension grew in France. People were talking about revolution and almost on every street corner of Paris, there were a man or two talking about the censorship of the press and spreading posters about opposition of the king. Soon, the people started to gather around the city and start protests. 

Grantaire saw it having an effect on their little group as well, especially on Enjolras and Combeferre. It worried him. Grantaire could see, how keen Enjolras was for joining the revolution, but something made him keep his distance, like he was watching from aside how it all would play out. 

That day they met in café Musain at evening. Feuilly had spread a newspaper on top of the table, on which they were now leaning over and talking in hushed voices. Only Courfeyrac and Marius were missing from their little meeting.

“I saw a group of army officers near my house, a little over an hour ago.” Bahorel told them. There was a tension growing in them all, waiting for something to happen at any minute.

“For real?” Bossuet asked, sounding excited.

“I saw them too!” This time Jehan spoke out. “An old lady, who lives above from me, dropped a jar of flowers on them. It almost hit one of them to head.”

“Have you heard?” Courfeyrac had emerged to the café. He had clearly run there, since he was short of breath and sweat lingered on his forehead.

“Heard what?” Enjolras asked, straightening his back and others followed his example.

“A group of men tried to break into the arm depot, just a few blocks away from here.” Courfeyrac explained the reason of his nervousness.

“Did they succeed?” Combeferre asked and Courfeyrac shook his head.

“I think the first ones got something, before the army came to suspend them.” Courfeyrac drew a seat to the table and was the only one to sit down. He took Grantaire’s glass, knowing it would contain something stronger than water and downed it with one gulp.

A loud bang suddenly echoed from the outside and they all startled. After that, they could hear people running pass Musain and men shouting something to each other. Grantaire’s heart beat fast in his chest. He wished Courfeyrac would've saved him some of his drink. The second shot that was fired, didn’t cause such a frantic response from them.

They stayed at the café until it got dark. Grantaire listened in horror, as the others talked about joining the rioting outside. Enjolras had been the first one to suggest it and after a moment of hesitation, the _Les Amis de l’ABC_ seemed to warm up to the idea. It was eventually Combeferre, who talked some sense into Enjolras; mentioning, that if the riot was going to succeed, the citizens of Paris should’ve prepared more effectively before that. But, in the end, it would've been impossible for them to stay inside, while the spark of revolution had been lit. They agreed on collecting guns and all the other weapons they could get their hands on and help their fellow Frenchmen.

“Have you all lost your minds?” Grantaire asked, as the rest of them were about to leave for tonight. They all turned to look at him. “Joining a riot, for which the people gathered up only a few hours ago, without any preparation beforehand and an army patrolling the streets?”

“Did you not listen to what we just said?” Enjolras asked and Grantaire turned his focus on him. The despise in his gaze made Grantaire’s stomach turn. “We agreed on waiting and preparing for the upcoming revolution.”

“I did hear you.” Grantaire chose to ignore the feeling he got and stand up against Enjolras. “But if we are the only ones to prepare, we have no change to defeat the whole army.” He looked at Combeferre for support, but his friend only looked at Enjolras, to hear his opinion on the matter.

Enjolras suppressed a sigh and instead shook his head in disappointment. “I did not assume for you to join us, but I expected you to keep your mouth shut and let us do the thinking.”

Grantaire felt a sting in his chest. He opened his mouth to argue some more, but Enjolras stopped him by raising his hand.

“Enough!” He said firmly and glared at Grantaire, until he closed his mouth. “We have too many things to take care of, than to listen to your idiotic arguments.”

Grantaire watched, as his friends made their way outside. Jehan patted his shoulder as he passed him by, but didn't say a word. It still gave Grantaire enough courage and self-esteem to follow them. The streets had become deserted and only few shots and shouts could be heard from the distance. A loud crack from near them made Grantaire jump and he quickly looked towards its destination. He saw a little boy, couldn’t be more than a ten years of age, throw stones towards street lamps.

“What are you doing, boy?” Bossuet asked from him and the boy quickly took a jump back, only then noticing them standing there.

“Can’t you see, you dumb?” The little boy asked boldly, making Grantaire laugh. “I saw men break the lights. It slows that stupid army down.”

“Good thinking.” Enjolras agreed, he crouched down to pick up a stone himself and threw it towards one, still working, light lamp. It was a straight shot and the lantern broke loudly. There wasn't much street lamps left when the group made their way along the streets, but every working lantern they saw, they broke it.

Grantaire noticed that the little boy had started to follow them. He couldn’t blame him for getting sucked in by the Apollo’s light.

 

 

The next day, the rioting continued. All the stores were closed and most of the people had barricaded themselves inside their houses. To Grantaire, walking down a deserted street in the middle of the day, felt like the world had ended. The pavement was covered with broken glass and clay, from the lanterns and flower pots, which crunched under his shoes.

All his friends, except for Bossuet and Joly, had this time gathered inside Corinthe. They weren’t the only ones there. It seemed Combeferre had found some men, who were interested of starting a proper revolution to join them. They all listened carefully for what Enjolras had to say. Grantaire noticed a pile of weapons being stacked on one of the tables. He felt shiver go down his spine and quickly went to the bar to get something to drink. This day insisted it.

When he poured himself a cup of wine and turned around to observe Enjolras as he spoke, he noticed the same little boy, this time crouching at the middle of the staircase, clearly thinking no one could see him there. The boy was listening to Enjolras' speech and waved his head from side to side, to get at least a glimpse of him. Grantaire laughed dryly into his cup before taking a swig.

“…over twenty citizens have died last night.” Enjolras’ words caught Grantaire’s attention and he looked back up at him. “We, who still have not joined the cause and armed ourselves, should at least now gather everything we have and rise up to barricade!”

“We do not even have one!” A middle-aged man shouted from somewhere between the crowd, annoying Grantaire immediately and by the looks of it, Enjolras as well.

But Enjolras didn't let it show more than a second. He quickly told him his plan after letting out a mock laugh: “We do not need to build a barricade of our own! There are dozens, maybe even hundreds of barricades being build all around Paris. We can strengthen one or two of them with our number and weapons.”

Enjolras loved to speak, especially to masses like these and to people, who hungered to hear his every word. Grantaire smiled to himself. Enjolras was truly at his best, while standing in front of the citizens and speaking powerful words, often full of wisdom, which Combeferre had lend him. The tiniest bit of good mood, Grantaire had got from the day, soon disappeared when Enjolras declared that they should now join a barricade three blocks away. Grantaire felt himself starting to panic. He thought the preparations would’ve taken days and in the meantime, the whole revolution would’ve died down, but now they were all walking to their deaths. He was certain of that. He glanced towards the table full of muskets and revolvers and thought about taking them all and throwing them into the Seine. But he didn't and just watched, as the people took their weapons, one by one, and headed downstairs.

Grantaire’s eyes sought Enjolras out and his gaze followed his friend walk up to the table, take a musket for himself and head down the stairs with others. Grantaire downed the last content of his cup and quickly followed him.

“Enjolras.” He called after him and when Enjolras didn't react, he took hold of his arm to slow him down. “Enjolras!” He said again, but now Enjolras wrenched his arm free from his hold and gave him the most murderous look Grantaire had ever received. It took him aback for a moment, but when Enjolras turned to leave once more, Grantaire swallowed the dryness from his throat and stepped on his way and took hold of his shoulders to stop him.

“Leave, Grantaire.” Enjolras said, trying to suppress his anger in front of all these people.

“Enjolras, please, just listen for a moment…” Grantaire felt himself starting to panic again. He stammered with his words and his voice was shaking with the fear of letting his friends go to their deaths. “This cannot be enough…”

“Shut up, Grantaire and step out of my way!” This time Enjolras shouted and made Grantaire fell silent. They stared at each other for a moment. Enjolras glared at Grantaire, like he was the last person on earth who he wished to see right now.

Grantaire swallowed and tried to gather up the courage to say something, but only a pathetic whimper escaped his mouth. He let his hands fall down from Enjolras’ shoulders and took a hesitant step backwards.

“You are useless.” Enjolras said with a low voice as he hit Grantaire’s shoulder, while he rushed past him.

Grantaire felt a lump rise to his throat and tears threatened to fill his eyes. He blinked fiercely to not to let them fall and swallowed hard. His eyes were cast downwards as he saw his friends walk pass him, missing the way they looked at him with pity.

“Come on. Join us, R.” Combeferre’s voice reached his ear, but Grantaire didn't react.

He was pushed around as people exited the building after Enjolras. Once Grantaire was left alone, he drew a deep breath and tried to think what to do next. Should he follow his friends to their deaths or stay here and drink himself to oblivion? In the end, the decision wasn’t hard and Grantaire was about to set to his course, when there was shouting echoing from the street:

“Help! Help me!” It was Joly’s voice, sounding like his life was in danger.

Grantaire rushed outside and rose to his tiptoes, to see over the men’s heads, what was going on. He caught a glimpse of Enjolras’ fair hair depart from the group. Grantaire pushed through the crowd and had just enough time to see his friends disappear to one of the alleyways. He ran after them and as he turned the corner, he was faced by a gruesome sight: all his friends were struggling with ten army’s men and Bossuet was lying in the middle of it all, unconscious and his face bleeding.

Grantaire didn't hesitate to join in the fight and hit a soldier, who was about to give Bossuet one more kick, straight to his jaw. The man staggered backwards, but seemed to recover quickly, since he was suddenly holding a musket in his hand and was about to raise it against them. Suddenly, the man screamed in pain as that same little boy, who they had met a day earlier, kicked his leg. Grantaire quickly got to the man and took hold of his arm, to get him to drop the weapon. He eventually managed to kick the man’s elbow hard enough for him to drop the musket. Grantaire picked it up quickly and knocked the man out with its end. He looked down at the gun in his hands, wanting nothing more than to drop it and never touch one of those again, when his mind returned to the fight.

Grantaire turned around to see Enjolras struggle with one of the army men and he swung the musket as hard as he could to the back of the man’s head. After that blow, Enjolras was easily able to pin him down. When that happened, the five soldiers left standing, seemed to understand that they were outnumbered and quickly made their escape.

“What happened?” Enjolras demanded for an answer from Joly, who had crouched down beside Bossuet.

“We were heading towards Corinthe, when they came out of nowhere.” Joly started to explain, while he checked the state of Bossuet’s wounds. “They saw Bossuet carrying a gun and seemed to assume that we were part of the revolution. Fortunately, they thought they could only arrest us and did not use their guns. I managed to escape and get you for assistance.”

“They almost did.” Grantaire said then and looked towards the little boy, who was watching them from the side. “You saved my life, little boy.”

“I am a bigger man than most lot of you.” The boy glared at Grantaire, who only smiled.

“What is your name then, if not a little boy?” He asked, making the boy look even more angry.

“Gavroche is my name. Do not forget it!” The little boy, Gavroche, said proudly with his jaw raised. Still, reaching Grantaire only to his waist. 

“Okay, little Gavroche.” Grantaire said, laughing to the boy’s annoyed look, but then said seriously: “ _Merci_. We shall offer you a dinner someday.”

Gavroche nodded then and turned to look at Bossuet, who still laid unconscious. “Is your friend going to be alright?”

“ _Oui_ , I believe so.” Joly replied and smiled tightly.

“Help Joly get Bossuet home.” Enjolras spoke out, addressing his words to Grantaire.

“Me?” Grantaire looked towards Enjolras doubtfully. He was surprised that Enjolras was even talking to him after their verbal dispute back there.

“ _Oui_ , you. Since you have nothing better to do.” Enjolras ordered, making Grantaire feel bad about himself again. “The rest of us have a revolution to join to.”

“There is no revolution.” They all looked up to the end of the alleyway where a man, who had probably been listening to Enjolras’ speech at Corinthe, stood.

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asked, almost angrily. “Speak up!” He snapped at the man, who seemed to be taken aback by his frustration.

“The barricades are being taken down. It just came to knowledge that Charles X and politicians has decided to form provisional government. There is no need for the revolution anymore.” The man explained and left them standing there, staring after him.

It was over as fast as it had started. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who stared into the distance, looking almost crushed by the news. Grantaire wished he could comfort him but at the same time, he was overly joyous, that the revolution was over. Then a realization hit him: Enjolras had longed to fight, almost as if it had given his life a deeper meaning. It chilled Grantaire to the bone. He feared Enjolras could never return to the way he was only three short days ago.

 

 

Grantaire helped Joly walk Bossuet home, just like Enjolras had ordered. The others would’ve accompanied them, now that the revolution had ended, but Joly had assured them that they would be able to make it, since Bossuet finally received consciousness.

The streets were still empty. From time to time, they could still hear shots being fired, but otherwise it was quiet. They still hastened their steps, wanting to get out of the streets as fast as possible and enable Bossuet to lie down and rest.

“Can you support him for a moment?” Joly asked as they came in front of their house, needing to get the key from his pocket.

“Sure.” Grantaire agreed, but once Joly slipped away from under Bossuet’s arm, he fell towards Grantaire with his whole weight. “Shit! Joly, no! His legs do not carry him at all.”

Joly quickly helped Grantaire to get their friend back on his feet. Bossuet was nearly out of it again and his knees gave in underneath him, making them both curse under his weight. They couldn't afford to put him down, since they could never get him back up again.

“Let’s try if Musichetta is home.” Joly said and kicked the door loudly.

Grantaire had never met this mysterious, oh so perfect, Musichetta. Joly often talked about her and Bossuet always agreed on what he said. It made Grantaire doubt, if the girl even existed outside their heads. They soon heard footsteps descend the stairs at the other side of the door. Then a key was turned and a fair-haired, slim woman let them in.

“Bossuet!” The woman, clearly Musichetta who was real after all, gasped as she saw the man covered in blood. “What happened, Joly?”

“I shall explain it all to you later. Just… let us in, please?” Joly spoke, out of breath as he and Grantaire tried to keep Bossuet up with sore arms.

It took the last of their strength to carry Bossuet upstairs and into bed. Grantaire sighed out loud, when they finally managed that and he succumbed next to the bed on the floor.

“ _Merci_ , Grantaire and apologies, for not letting the others come with us. I just… thought we could handle it.” Joly said and accepted a bowl of hot water and clean bandages from Musichetta. “You should stay here for tonight. It is not safe outside.”

“It is okay. Let’s only hope Bossuet will recover soon.” Grantaire replied and leaned against the side of the bed.

“Oh, Musichetta, this is our friend Grantaire.” Joly introduced them, as Musichetta was about to leave the room.

“Hello, Grantaire. I have heard much about you.” Musichetta said, making Grantaire frown towards Joly, who seemed awfully lot interested about a small wound on Bossuet’s eyebrow, which he had already cleaned once.

“I hope some good things as well…” Grantaire half joked and laughed dryly, making Musichetta blush. She was a very pretty girl, no doubt, but that did nothing to Grantaire. No one could compare to certain man he knew, when it came to beauty.

“Of course… good things… _oui_ … I should go and make a bed for you to the spareroom.” Musichetta mumbled and quickly left them alone.

“What was that?” Grantaire asked, glancing towards Joly who just shrugged and continued with his task with Bossuet’s wound. “You all sleep in the same room?” He then changed the subject and looked around the surprisingly spacious bedroom. There was only one large double bed.

Joly finally stopped treating the wound and looked nervously at the wall in front of him. “Well… sometimes, yes. Bossuet usually sleeps at the room you are going to sleep in.”

“Right…” Grantaire couldn't care less about their arraignments. It felt odd to him, but who was he to judge. At least they had a love-life, unlike some. It had been weeks, almost a month, since Enjolras had last visited him.

“What is going on between you two?” Joly’s question made Grantaire frown. His friend sounded curious, but at the same time a little nervous, like he didn’t know how Grantaire would react to the question.

“Between who?” Grantaire didn't know how to react, since he didn’t even understand the question.

“Between you and Enjolras?” Joly specified, making Grantaire’s blood turn cold.

“I uhh… What do you mean by that?” Grantaire avoided looking at Joly. He tried fiercely to make out a lie, if Joly suspected anything.

“I do not mean to pry, but it affects us too, you know?” Joly continued. Grantaire wondered what he meant by that. “There is this tension between you two. You are fighting all the time and… it is exhausting to look at.”

Grantaire felt a little bit calmer. It seemed Joly’s question wasn’t about their relationship. Not in the sense Grantaire had feared, in any case.

“I guess…” He had to think for a moment, to find the right words to describe their interaction. “…we view the world differently.”

“I know that much.” Joly laughed, making Grantaire smile as well. “But what I do not understand, is why he is always so mad at you? Like you have done something to him that he cannot forgive?”

“I-I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. Grantaire didn't know. He suspected it had something to do with his drinking and overall personality, but Enjolras had always behaved that way towards him. Not as much in the beginning, but still had.

The two of them fell to silence, as Joly continued to clean Bossuet and Grantaire got lost in his thoughts.

“World is imperfect and it will never turn perfect, no matter how hard Enjolras tries to change it.” Grantaire suddenly mused, half to himself.

“What did you say?” Joly asked and turned to look at him.

Grantaire let out a dry laugh as he stared at his hands. “I just realized, that Enjolras won’t stop at nothing to change this world. It shall eventually become his demise.”

Joly opened his mouth to ask something more, but then decided otherwise and crouched over Bossuet again. The image of Enjolras staring into the distance, when the knowledge of the revolution’s end had reached them, haunted in Grantaire’s mind.

“You should let go of him.” Joly’s voice made Grantaire snap out of his solemn thoughts and concentrate on his friend. “Enjolras. He will never come halfway.”

Grantaire examined Joly carefully, but he never looked away from Bossuet as he spoke. For a split of a second, Grantaire wondered if he should just say he couldn’t understand what he meant, but then decided against it. Joly clearly knew what he was talking about, but wasn't going to share his information with anyone. Grantaire was certain of that, since he would’ve already done it, if he had wanted to.

“I sometimes think that myself.” Grantaire replied and concentrated on his fingernails again. After their first kiss, Grantaire had been sure Enjolras would never even lay eyes upon him again, much less touch him, but he had. It made Grantaire believe, that one day, he would actually meet him halfway. Enjolras had taken one step towards him, multiple of times, but had always taken that step back as well. Grantaire was waiting for him to take the step towards him again.

This time Joly looked up at him, but didn't say a word. He only shook his head in disappointment before continuing with his task.

 

 

_October_

After the revolution, it took Paris months to get completely back to its normal life. But as Grantaire had feared, Enjolras hadn't returned to his former life. He talked more and more about freeing France and its citizens. He made public speeches about his visions of the future more often and brought everyone, who was willing to listen, with him to Corinthe. It didn't take long for the whole restaurant to be full of people every time they had a “meeting” there. Grantaire hated it all. When Enjolras wasn’t talking in Corinthe or sitting in a lecture at university, he spent his time at his mother’s house, which stroke as odd for Grantaire, but he soon got an explanation for that.

“There is this man, my family has associations with.” Enjolras explained one night, when Courfeyrac had questioned about it. “He owns the steel factory and as you know, they make guns as well.”

“You wish to get in contact with him?” Combeferre asked now.

“ _Oui_ , and I already have.” Enjolras replied, with a proud smile. “When the time comes for the next revolution, I will be the first one to get my hands on weaponry.”

“You think he will kindly lend you his valuable gun collection, for such a meaningless thing as revolution?” Grantaire asked then, gaining a glare from Enjolras, but he had started to get used to it. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.

“Of course he will not.” Enjolras surprised him by agreeing. “He would be a fool to lend something so valuable. I should have to trade with him.”

“With what?” Grantaire asked with a mocking tone and took a sip from his bottle.

“That is none of your concern. You just keep on drinking.” Enjolras gave him an icy stare again, before continuing to talk about the man and his factory.

Grantaire got up and made his way to the bar. He took another bottle from Matelote and stayed there for a moment to drink in solitude. He was glad that, for once, there was no one else besides _Les Amis_ inside Corinthe. It gave him the change to sit closer to Enjolras. When the house was full of people, it was nearly impossible to get near Enjolras, since everyone wished to have a word with him.

When Grantaire had finished his second bottle, they started to leave. He wished they could stay at least a little bit longer, but he refused to beg. As they stepped outside, they saw a familiar looking little boy, singing something too equivocal for a young boy like him.

“Hey, you!” Enjolras was the one to shout at him. “Gavroche, was it not?”

Gavroche looked at them warily, but then he seemed to recognize the lot, since a mischievous smile appeared on his face and he strode towards them. “You need my help again to beat up some soldiers?” The boy asked and showed his swordplay moves, which weren’t half bad.

“We still owe you a lunch, don’t we?” Jehan asked and made Gavroche stop and stare at them.

“You bloody well do!” The boy yelled, faking an angry tone.

Grantaire saw Enjolras glance towards Corinthe and quickly stepped in the conversation: “No, not to Corinthe! The poor boy would die after eating there. He is not strong enough to withstand such a gruesome food.”

“Who are you calling weak, you old drunk?” Gavroche shouted angrily, this time for real.

Grantaire should’ve probably been insulted by his remark, but he only laughed and ruffled his hair. “You are alright!”

Gavroche slapped his hand away and stayed at the same spot, even though the _Les Amis_ started to walk towards a better restaurant in the city. Eventually, he followed though, the hunger winning his sense of pride.

Enjolras eyed the little boy warily. He wasn't sure what to do with him. He wished he wouldn't start following them everywhere they went. Gavroche had a sharp tongue and he reminded him of Grantaire when he was young. Enjolras wasn’t sure, if he liked the idea. He hoped this little boy wouldn’t turn out the same. His eyes moved to Grantaire, who walked unsteadily next to his friends and reeked of day old booze.


	13. Take the sun with you as you go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually where I started to write the story and you can probably see where the name of it came from. It was meant to be this short at first, but as always, it kinda escalated. I'm just unable to keep anything short.

_1830  
November_

 

Enjolras knocked on Grantaire’s door, but there was no answer. He waited politely for a couple of minutes, in case the cynic had passed out and was now stumbling towards the door to let him in. But there were no sound coming from the other side. Enjolras thought about leaving, but then he tried if the door was unlocked. To his surprise, it opened easily with a loud creak. Enjolras stepped inside and his breath seized in his lungs when he faced the scene in the room: Grantaire was laying on the floor with his face down. He had obviously tripped with his alcohol filled body and hit his head. At first, Enjolras was certain Grantaire was dead, but he soon noticed that his chest was rising and falling in steady pace.

Enjolras shook his head in frustration and leaned against the door to close it. He stayed there for a moment, to gather his strength, watching the unconscious man. If Grantaire had been awake, they would’ve probably fought, as always, but now it wasn't an option. Enjolras hated that Grantaire drank. Every time, there was a period when the man was more sober than drunk, Enjolras hoped that he could get his mind away from this. But every time Grantaire proved him wrong, disappointing him. Enjolras took a deep breath, before slowly diverging himself from the door, as if it took enormous strength for him to do that. His whole body seemed to weight twice as much as usual, but with steady steps, he walked next to Grantaire and crouched beside him. He reached out to brush a lock of hair from the unconscious man’s forehead and saw a red spot from where his head had hit the floor. It didn't look as bad as he had feared and feeling like he could breathe again a little more freely, Enjolras shook Grantaire’s shoulder to wake him up.

Grantaire groaned in pain and leaned against his arms to lift his head up slightly. It took him a moment to notice, it was Enjolras crouching beside him. Then he looked back down and arched his back.

“Paint…” Enjolras heard him mumble.

“What?” He asked, sure that Grantaire was being delusional.

“Paint bucket…” Grantaire said more clearly now and had just enough strength to point towards the only table in the room, where next to it, laid an empty paint bucket.

Enjolras quickly leaned over to drag the container under Grantaire’s head, just before he let the content of his stomach into the bucket. The sound made Enjolras frown in disgust and he looked away, wondering, if he could find enough feelings inside himself to stay. Grantaire cursed loudly and tried to sit up, but his body tilted to his left. If Enjolras hadn’t caught him, he would’ve fallen back down to the floor.

“Let’s get you up, Grantaire’” Enjolras encouraged him, to gather his strength for another try.

Grantaire nodded weakly and leaned heavily against Enjolras' arms, as he hauled him up. Once Grantaire stretched his legs, his whole world tilted again and his knees gave out underneath him. Enjolras quickly tightened his hold on Grantaire and hoisted his body back up to get his arm over his shoulders. He started to drag the drunkard towards the bed in the corner of the room, next to the cold fireplace. The task turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. Normally, even in his worst state of drunkenness, Grantaire usually managed to support himself more steadily. It made Enjolras realize that this was more than Grantaire having too much to drink. He hoped that the head injury wasn’t going to be fatal, as it sometimes was, making people lose their consciousness and never wake up again.

Finally, Enjolras was close enough to lower Grantaire's body to the side of the bed. The mattress let out a groaning creak under his weight. Enjolras wondered, when it would give in completely. Slowly, he let go of Grantaire’s shoulders and when it seemed that he managed to hold himself in a sitting position, he took a step back.

Grantaire could feel that stare, even from across a room with full of people. He didn’t need to glance up, to see the disappointed look in Enjolras' eyes, but he still did and regretted it right away. He looked away and closed his eyes, as the headache threatened to crack his skull. He heard the frustrated sight coming from the man, whose smell intoxicated Grantaire’s senses. He concentrated on breathing it in and felt the pain decrease slightly.

“Why is it, that you cannot stay away from the bottle longer than a day or two?” Enjolras' accusing voice reached his ears and with a great deal of effort, Grantaire opened his eyes again.

“Let it be.” He pleaded and looked back up at him, even though he knew Enjolras wouldn’t do so.

“I cannot stand this.” Enjolras shook his head and turned away. The motion hurt Grantaire more than the words.

It was one of those days, when everything seemed pointless. When all in life was shrouded in darkness. The past was catching up to him and it felt like the ghosts would never leave. The future seemed the same. When Grantaire looked at Enjolras' turned back, he saw a man who would die in a year or two; standing above a barricade he had built for the sake of better tomorrow and the whole France would turn their backs, when he would fall. The thought made Grantaire’s eyes blur and he closed them again, feeling a single tear escape his eye and leaving a trail against his cheek. Grantaire didn’t tell this to Enjolras. He would never understand. Only few of many, were cursed the same way as Grantaire was.

Enjolras took a step towards the door, sick and tired of all this, when his eyes were caught by the works of art on the table. He moved closer to it and his hand hovered over one of the paintings. The canvas was painted black, with only red spots on one corner, making it look like blood. Enjolras hated it. He turned his attention to a leather covered book next to it, which he carefully opened. He glanced towards the tired looking man, who was cautiously looking back at him. When Grantaire didn't seem to object, Enjolras continued to browse. The book was full of sketches of different people and landscapes. There were Gavroche, Courfeyrac and Feuilly, most of them only showing their faces. Some of the events, he remembered from a week or even months back, Grantaire had immortalized on paper. Enjolras stopped turning the pages, when a sketch of Corinthe caught his eyes. It was portrayed from the outside, very detailed, but what stood out was a huge pile of furniture in front of it: a barricade.

“How can you remember so much?” Enjolras asked, knowing that Grantaire hadn’t asked for anyone to pose for him. Neither had he ever noticed Grantaire to have the book with him at the meetings.

Grantaire let out a dry laugh. “I just remember.” He then said. “I memorize the details and if I draw it down soon after, I might even get them right.”

Enjolras nodded absentmindedly and continued to scroll. Soon he stopped to a page with his face on it. He looked at it in awe. All the details were much more vivid than in the other drawings. It felt like he was looking in a mirror, though the Enjolras on the drawing looked defeated. Odd sense of pride filled him, which was unfamiliar when it was related to Grantaire. This man could do so much more, if he only wanted to, but he was too consumed with alcohol and self-loathing.

Grantaire remembered drawing that picture: he had come home from Bossuet and Joly's apartment and sat down to sketch the image of Enjolras after the riot had died down. The exhaustion filled him and his eyes started to wander around the room: to the table full of paintings and to the dark grey wall, which was moist in rainy weathers. But his gaze always returned to Enjolras and to the back of his red jacket. With a loud grunt, Grantaire crawled further to the bed and laid his head down. He felt the world starting to spin around him again and he prayed, that the nausea would leave him. As his mind wandered to much-needed dreams, he didn't feel his boots being taken off from his feet or the blanket that was laid over his body.

Enjolras looked at the sleeping form of Grantaire, before carefully laying himself down to the bed beside him. He shifted closer and pressed his forehead against the back of the cynic’s head, wrapping his other arm around the sleeping body. The hair smelled like Grantaire, not alcohol or paint like he often smelled like, but only Grantaire. The day had been long and it didn’t take long for him to follow Grantaire into restless dreams.

 

 

As Grantaire woke up, the first thing that welcomed him back to the reality was the darkness. He felt his stomach drop, as the darkness consumed his thoughts. Tears filled his eyes and he took a shivering breath through his mouth. It was then, when he noticed a warm body pressed against his back and a heavy arm wrapped over his torso. It was like a glimpse of light was let in to the darkness of his mind, from between shut curtains. Grantaire felt himself smile. Silently, he nestled closer to the body, burying himself deeper into Enjolras' embrace. He carefully arranged the sleeping man’s arm, so it was wrapped more tightly around him. Grantaire felt almost safe and untouchable by the world, enjoying the feeling of Enjolras’ breath against his neck.

After an hour or so, Grantaire was pulled out from his thoughts by a light press of lips against the skin of his neck. The bed bent slightly, as Enjolras lifted himself against his arm. His lips found Grantaire’s earlobe next and he licked it lightly. The hand, which had been wrapped around Grantaire’s body, was pressed against the side of his face, softly turning his head so that Enjolras could kiss his cheek. He wiped away the tear trails from Grantaire’s face with his thumb. Without asked for, Grantaire turned his whole body towards his Apollo, lightly brushing his fingers against his arm as he did so. Enjolras face was now right above Grantaire’s. His eyes were closed or almost shut, as if he was lost in the moment, or more likely, it helped him to stay focused, Grantaire thought and watched as the man he adored leaned down to press their lips together. His eyes didn’t leave Enjolras’ eyelids for one second. He admired the blonde, long eyelashes which occasionally fluttered open slightly, but never looked into Grantaire’s eyes.

Enjolras continued his trail of kisses. He moved down to press his lips against Grantaire’s jawbone and then to his exposed neck. The bed dipped again, when Enjolras lifted his body and laid it on top of Grantaire’s, pressing his heated body fully against the cool one. His hand glided down to unbutton Grantaire’s shirt. He moved so slowly, that Grantaire wondered if he was dreaming it; that the morning sunlight, which flooded into the room through the only window, hadn’t even rose yet and he was sleeping alone in his cold bed. 

Enjolras only opened his shirt halfway and then softly pulled the collar over Grantaire’s shoulder. The next three kisses were pressed against the exposed skin there. At the same time, Enjolras moved his body over Grantaire’s, so their arousals rubbed against the other. A sudden gasp escaped Grantaire’s lips with the friction. He arched his neck and closed his eyes to savor the feeling. He felt breath against his lips and opened his eyes, only to realize how close his love’s face was from his and this time, Enjolras was looking straight into his eyes with his hazel ones. It sent shivers down Grantaire’s spine. He couldn’t close them again, when Enjolras looked down to his lips and leaned down to press his owns to Grantaire’s, more passionately now than before. He glided his tongue against Grantaire’s closed lips, like demanding for an entrance, which Grantaire happily allowed, opening his mouth and let their tongues slide against each other. For Grantaire, it felt like the sun was illuminating the whole room, blinding him, pushing the darkness away from its way. An unintended noise escaped from deep inside his throat, making him feel embarrassed, but Enjolras didn’t seem to mind. He cupped Grantaire’s jaw with his other hand to keep his face in place as he moved his mouth to get deeper into Grantaire’s. He moved his body again, but this time didn't stop and repeated the movement steadily.

Grantaire lifted his hand, to glide his fingers through Enjolras’ curls and to keep his head closer. His other hand found its way to cup Enjolras’ bottom. Suddenly Enjolras' lips disappeared and Grantaire let out a noise of protest, but didn’t have the decency to pull his head back down. But he didn’t have to miss Enjolras’ lips for long, as they found his neck instead. Grantaire felt Enjolras smile against his skin, a truly rare thing and then he sucked the spot there, right from where his pulse point was. Grantaire glided his hand over Enjolras’ crotch, feeling the growing arousal. This time it was Enjolras’ turn to let out a small gasp. He then lifted himself against his arms, to Grantaire’s disappointment. 

Their eyes met again and they stared at each other, as Enjolras sat astride over Grantaire’s body, their groins pressed together. Enjolras’ started to take off his vest and shirt as Grantaire reached out to open his trousers, his fingers fumbling with the task. As Enjolras managed to get rid of his shirt, he unbuttoned Grantaire’s fully and moved towards the end of the bed with his knees. Grantaire kept his eyes fixed on Enjolras, as he pulled his trousers off. Then he reached out to the side of the bed, picking up a tiny vase of oil from the floor. Before Grantaire could understand what Enjolras wanted, his hand was taken to his and dipped into the oil. Without a word, Enjolras returned to his earlier position, spreading his legs to the both sides of Grantaire’s body. He was still holding Grantaire’s hand tightly in his palm and he moved it between his legs. Grantaire’s mouth went dry, as he watched the beauty above him and felt his hand being guided down between Enjolras’ buttocks. He glanced up at the man, who just stared at him with intense look. During a times like these, Grantaire often smiled or even laughed, but Enjolras, being serious as always, never changes his expression from this to anything else. Grantaire didn’t mind, of course, it was only astonishing that he was allowed to have this man here in his bed, looking down at him with that look.

Carefully, Grantaire slid his middle finger inside Enjolras, licking his lips slowly, as he felt the tight muscles around it. Enjolras had closed his eyes now, but the seriousness was still there. Grantaire added another finger right after Enjolras relaxed and soon a third. He watched as Enjolras pressed his lips together to a thin line and open them again, so he could see his tongue move against his teeth. It was then, when Enjolras started to move his hips, pressing himself against Grantaire’s fingers. Then, as fast as he had taken Grantaire’s hand the first time, he repeated the movement and pushed his hand down against the mattress. Grantaire felt Enjolras’ hands starting to open his trousers, freeing his erection and making him draw a quick breath between his teeth. He continued to breathe heavily, as he lifted his head to watch Enjolras descend himself down to his cock. The feeling of being inside him was almost too much for Grantaire to handle and he had to use his whole willpower to not thrust against Enjolras and let himself be lost in the moment. 

Slowly, Enjolras started to move against Grantaire’s hips, taking support from his chest with both hands. Because of that, Grantaire couldn’t breathe properly, but he was fine with it. Their eyes locked again and neither of them looked away. They haven’t uttered a word, since they woke up. Grantaire started to move his hips along Enjolras’ thrusts, when the pace quickened. He moved his hands to Enjolras’ hips, to keep him steady. It didn’t take long for Grantaire to feel the need and passion gather into his lower belly, but it was Enjolras who pressed his fingers more tightly against Grantaire’s chest and came with a silent moan on his lips. The feeling of tightening muscles around his cock, made Grantaire’s eyesight blur, as for the split of a blissful second, his mind left his body and everything he hated in life disappeared alongside with it. But his thoughts soon returned, like they always did and the moment was over. For a while longer, they stared into each other’s eyes. Then Enjolras smiled, only slightly, but enough to make Grantaire’s heart miss a beat and then starting to pound against his chest even faster. Grantaire was sure, Enjolras could feel the change of his heartbeat against the palm of his hand, but even if he had, he didn’t mention about it. Instead, Enjolras lifted himself off from top of him and the warm heat left Grantaire’s lower body. With a heart full of regret, he watched Enjolras dress himself up and leave the apartment with only a small nod and that serious expression on his face again, taking the sunlight with him and leaving Grantaire’s life to be filled with darkness again.

 

 

It was noon, when Grantaire managed to gather his strength to sit up. His head felt twice its size and his vision blurred for a long moment. Slowly, he lowered his feet to the dusty floor, when an image flashed before his eyes and he knew he had to get it on paper, as soon as possible. before it would be gone again. Grantaire reached out to take a bottle of wine from the table with shaking hands and lifted it up to his lips. He leaned his head back, but not a drop came out. He sighed loudly and looked at the finished bottle in regretfully, before tossing it to the bed.

Grantaire stood up and searched his sketchbook with his eyes, but couldn't find it anywhere. Enjolras must have placed it somewhere else. He cursed under his breath and stumbled to the corner of his apartment to take a blank canvas from there. He made some space to the table, by pushing all the small stuff from top of it and placed the canvas on it. Grantaire soon found his pencil and lowered it towards the canvas. He tried to concentrate on drawing the first line, but his hand started to shake even more. He cursed again and threw the pencil down. He needed to have a drink. Now.

Grantaire looked around his apartment, feeling a cold sweat on his forehead. He rampaged through the table again, but found nothing. He growled in frustration and was ready to tear his hair out, when he decided to check underneath his bed. He crouched to his knees and saw two bottles. He quickly reached out and sighed in relief, to see liquid on the bottom of the brandy bottle. He opened the cork with shaking hands and downed the rest of its content, feeling his condition improve immediately. Grantaire savored the taste in his mouth for a moment, before getting up and returning to the canvas. He took the pencil in his hand again and started to draw, but when he had made the first three lines, he suddenly stopped and just stared at the blank canvas. Grantaire’s self-hatred lifted its ugly head and he put the pencil back down again. He hated how he couldn’t stop drinking. He hated how he was unable to draw, without having a drink first. He didn't wonder why Enjolras loathed him so much. He loathed himself too.

Grantaire took a step away from his creation and then turned his back on it. He needed to have a proper drink.


	14. The smothered flicker of flame

_1831  
September_

Enjolras was studying, sitting by the nearest table from the window, with his books spread around the wooden surface. He had stayed behind, after everyone else had left the meeting in Corinthe. By everyone, he meant everyone else, expect for one person. He glanced towards him from time to time. Grantaire was in a good mood. He hadn’t drank as much as usual and was humming something, while he paced around the room.

“Why will you not join us to the dances?” Grantaire asked then, already knowing the answer, but liked to tease Enjolras just a little bit. “Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and with him Joly undoubtedly and even Marius are coming.”

“I am trying to study, contrary to you.” Enjolras retorted dryly.

“I do go to lectures.” Grantaire insisted.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, not only because of Grantaire’s statement, but because he realized he wouldn't get any reading done while Grantaire was around. “ _Oui_ , and you either pay no attention to what the professor is saying or you sleep through the whole lecture.”

“I believe, that is the same thing.” Grantaire smiled widely, but instead of saying something more as Enjolras expected him to, he fell silent.

Enjolras tried to focus on his studies again, but just when he was about to understand what he had read a million times over already, he became aware of Grantaire's presence behind him.

“You are no fun, Enjolras.” Grantaire reached forward to browse through one of Enjolras’ books.

“I am not interested of going to, something as unnecessary, as dances. I get enough of those kinds of events at my _mère’s_ request. Besides, I do not care to see you get drunk and try to seek the company of women.” A heavy silent filled the room after his last statement. Enjolras understood immediately that he had said too much, but decided to pretend he hadn't said anything out of ordinary. 

“So, that is why you are so hesitant to come?” Grantaire asked with a teasing voice, finally leaving the book alone. Then he leaned closer to Enjolras, so he could whisper to his ear: “I only seek for women’s company, because a certain someone does not even recognize their existence.”

“I do know they exist.” Enjolras leaned away from Grantaire, quickly, as if the man had burned him with his presence. He glanced towards the open window, to the empty street.

Grantaire only smiled and straightened himself. “Calm yourself, we are alone.” He ensured. “Why don’t you come to my place tonight?” He didn't wait for Enjolras’ reply, but went to the other side of the room to find an unopened wine bottle instead.

Enjolras watched him go, before once again glancing outside. Anyone could've walked there just a second ago and neither one of them would've noticed.

 

 

Grantaire enjoyed the music and the company of his friends. Or a friend, since he didn't know Marius well enough to call him such. The boy was a little bit too dreamy for his taste, talked only when asked something and often stared into the distance. And Bossuet had disappeared almost instantly somewhere with Joly, when he had joined them. Marius left early as well, but Courfeyrac was happy that he had even managed to talk him around to come in the first place.

Grantaire met a lovely young girl, with a raven black hair and big dark eyes. She smiled a lot and they had really interesting conversations, until she got a little bit too drunk and a little bit too clingy. The drunkenness, he didn't mind, he had had his fair share of drinks, but when she pressed herself against his chest and her hands started to roam around his body, it started to get too much for him. 

Courfeyrac smiled to him across the room. He had said several times, that he got lucky to get such a beautiful lady to himself. But what Courfeyrac hated the most, was to get a second place in matters of women. So, when he eventually found a nice looking girl for himself, he couldn't stop telling how much more beautiful she was compared to Grantaire's.

Grantaire played along late into the night, until he was certain, he wouldn't be able to get back home if he didn't leave immediately. But what most drew him away from the dances, was the thought of his Apollo waiting for him. After long hours of merriness and laughter, Grantaire announced he was going to head home. The girl, he took outside with him, but just when the door closed behind them, he turned towards her and told her to go home. Too bad for him, the girl was way too tipsy to obey his wish and instead, kept following him with unsteady steps.

“Don’t you want to have a little bit of fun?” The girl stammered, voice gruff from the alcohol. “Is there a wife waiting for you at home? Is that why you are in such a hurry?”

“No wife.” Grantaire answered and almost fell down, when he girl suddenly leaned against his shoulder with her whole weight.

“Then why will you not offer me a place to stay, just for tonight?” The girl pleaded into his ear.

Grantaire thought about her words for a moment. The night was cold and who knew what would come of her, if he left her all alone to sleep on the streets at her state and with that dress, which left little to imagination. “Alright then.” He eventually agreed, quite certain that his wish for Enjolras waiting for him, was more of his fantasy than anything else.

“You are such a gentleman, _sieur_. Thank you so much!” The girl beamed and jumped up in delight, almost falling over but managing to get her balance back.

“This is it.” Grantaire said as they stopped in front of the door of his small home. “It is not much, but better than to sleep under the skies.” He opened the door and let her in.

“This is just perfect!” The girl said and actually meant it. She looked around the room, like she had never seen anything like it before.

“You can sleep there.” He pointed towards the bed. “I think we both fit in just fine.”

“I could repay you if you like.” The girl said, as she crawled to the furthest side of the bed, lifting the hem of her dress slightly, to expose her legs.

Grantaire looked at her legs with disinterest, which the girl must've noticed, as she only smiled and covered herself with the blanket, falling asleep right away. Grantaire sighed as he blew out the only candle in the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his vest and boots off, before dipping his head to the pillow. He wasn't as lucky as the girl, for he stayed awake for an hour longer.

 

 

Enjolras had discarded the books and notes to his apartment. He had thought of going to bed, but decided to roam the streets instead, just to get a better night’s sleep. It wasn't long, when he took a familiar short cut through a dark alleyway and stopped before the sight in front of him. He saw Grantaire, accompanied by a young lady with a long blue dress. She leaned against him, whispering something into his ear. Enjolras stood in the shadows, so neither one of them could see him. The pair went inside Grantaire’s small apartment and the door was closed behind them. Enjolras stood there for a moment longer, watching the flicker of the candle, which he knew Grantaire kept on the only table of the room. As the candle was blown out, it seemed to wake Enjolras from the trance he had been in. Silently, he retraced his steps back to his own apartment. Not an expression had changed on his face.

 

 

The girl woke up alone. She found, that her body had been covered with a thin blanket and the smell of smoke indicated that someone had burned wood at the fireplace quite recently. She sat up, looking around, but the man she had met last night was nowhere to be seen. The girl smiled and thought that he had been a complete gentleman, not even trying to get her to lay with him, even though she had been completely wasted. She wished, she could’ve thanked the man, but she didn’t even know his name. She wondered how he could trust someone, a complete stranger, alone to his apartment but soon realized that there was nothing valuable to be taken. Just some paintings laying in the corner, which might someday be worth of something, but not for years.

Slowly she got up from the bed and corrected her wrinkled dress. She took her shoes, which she had dropped to the floor the previous night, but didn’t put them on. She preferred walking barefoot on a sunny days like these and besides, the shoes didn’t quite fit her, they were too small for her and felt uncomfortable. But they were pretty and since she rarely went to dances, she had wanted to put something nicer on.

She readied herself to leave, but then she noticed a white paper at the top of the table. She couldn’t remember seeing it there last night. Curiously, she walked to it and was stunned to see a sketch of herself. She picked it up and looked at the portrait closely. In the picture, she was sleeping and looked quite beautiful, in a way which she didn’t see as she looked herself from the mirror. Under the portrait was a letter ‘R’, which could be nothing else but a signature and below that was writing which said: You can keep this. The girl smiled to herself. Never, had anyone made a portrait of her. She thought about leaving again, but a black leather folder, which had been under the drawing, caught her attention. She reached out to touch it’s surface and wondered if she should peek inside. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the book. She browsed through it, examining every drawing with great detail. Some of them were done in a hurry, some were still unfinished, some papers were missing, most likely given to someone like hers, but maybe even thrown away and some were done extremely well. One of the best sketches, portrayed a beautiful young man with curly hair and serious look on his face. Under it was written with a small handwriting, as if the writer had been unsure if he was allowed to write the name down: Enjolras. This Enjolras and many others were the continual subject on the book. When she got to the last picture, she closed the book carefully and arranged it to look like she had never even touched it.

With that, the girl walked to the door, pressing the picture tightly against her chest. But as she stepped outside and closed the door shut behind her, she almost stumbled upon a young man. She quickly took a step back and was stunned to see that this man was the same, whose pictures she had just been watching.

“Oh, _bonjour_.” She greeted the man, who looked like he had been caught of trespassing. “If you are looking for the dark-haired man: he has left, I do not know where. You are his friend: Enjolras, are you not?”

The surprise, when she knew his name, was evident on his face. A deep frown appeared between his eyebrows, as he eyed her warily: “How do you know my name?”

The girl smiled. “A lucky guess. Look!” She then turned the paper around to show the sketch to him. “Our mutual friend drew this from me. It is beautiful, is it not?” She looked up to the man, excited.

Enjolras looked at the piece of paper without any change on his expression and he didn't say a word. The girl was a little offended. She saw that the man was beautiful, but didn't know what else this gentleman ‘R’ saw in him. He was not very pleasant by nature, at least.

“He was a perfect gentleman: generously gave me a place to sleep and did not even try to take advance of my unfortunate state.” The girl praised Grantaire and smiled, like she knew more than even Enjolras himself, as she examined his thoughtful face. “It was nice to meet you.” She lied and turned to walk down the street, swinging her shoes on her other hand and signing to herself: “ _Little he knows. Little he sees…_ ”

“What is your name?” Enjolras shouted after her. Needing to know her name, since she knew his. He wanted to ask about the words she had sang as well, but something kept him from asking.

The girl turned around with a mysterious smile. “Éponine.” She chirped to him before continuing to walk down the street with bare feet.

Enjolras looked at the door of Grantaire’s apartment and wondered, if he should take her word for Grantaire not being home. Eventually, he turned to the way he had come from, knowing where he could find the man.

Musain was already full of people. Mostly students, enjoying their simple breakfast of fresh bread and butter. It still didn't take long for Enjolras to see the man he was looking for. His eyes seemed to be drawn towards him before he heard the familiar, loud voice coming from one of the tables.

Grantaire had come to seek out Courfeyrac and discuss about last night’s events. Enjolras could hear him talk about the dark haired girl, Éponine, as he made his way to their table: “It was convenient that she needed a place to stay, as I was willing to offer it to her. She paid me back multiple times.”

“I do not know what she saw in you, but she was very eager to follow you.” Courfeyrac laughed. “Enjolras!” He shouted when he saw the man approach their table. “Grantaire told me, he had tried to get you to join us. I would have thought there was something wrong in this world if you had.”

Grantaire side glanced towards Enjolras, when Courfeyrac shouted his name. He had noticed Enjolras the moment he had walked inside. He couldn't have missed it, when the door had been opened and the sun had been let inside the musty old café. But he had decided to pretend he hadn't seen him.

Enjolras sat down to the opposite side of the two friends. “I get that you had a pleasant time then?” He asked more out of politeness, than real interest.

“Absolutely!” Courfeyrac grinned and stood up. “I hope that next time Grantaire is able to get you to join us, but I am afraid I have to leave to listen to a lecture. The professor is sure to cross me out of his list, if I do not show up this time. Gentlemen.” He lifted his hat and walked outside.

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ eyes on him, as he sipped from his glass of water. He looked up to meet his gaze. “What is it?” He asked then, finding it odd that Enjolras was still there. They rarely stayed, just the two of us, in a place full of people.

“You have been drinking?” It was more like a statement than a question. Enjolras didn't look angry, as he often was, when they talked about Grantaire’s drinking habits.

“I have not!” Grantaire vowed and lifted the glass towards the man. “Take a sniff, if you like. It is only water.”

Enjolras only glared at the glass, before lifting his gaze back to Grantaire. “Not now, but perhaps before. I… met that girl. She showed the drawing you had made of her.” Grantaire often took a sip of alcohol after a long night, to stop his hands from shaking.

Grantaire was unable to hide the surprise from his face. “You went to my apartment? At this hour?” He realized he had been talking too loudly, since Enjolras’ jaw tensed and the frown deepened on his face.

“I did not.” He said equally as loud. “I met her outside.” Right away, he realized the mistake of his chosen words, but it was already too late to take them back.

A wide smile appeared on Grantaire’s face and he lowered his voice to a whisper: “You were there last night.”

Enjolras wondered if he should deny it, but saw no reason to. “ _Oui_ , I was. You asked me to come, so I did. But you already had company.”

With that statement, the smile on Grantaire’s face faded a little. “She needed a place to stay.” He found himself defending his actions, even though there was nothing wrong in the way he had acted.

“I know. She told me.” The frown on Enjolras’ face disappeared, which itself was always a good sign, but the lift of the corner of his mouth and the way his mouth opened at the same time, made it clear to Grantaire that his Apollo wasn't angry with him. “My lectures start only after noon and my neighbors are all occupied with their works…”

Enjolras didn't need to say anything more. He saw how Grantaire’s stare intensified and he slowly licked his lips unconsciously, before taking a swig from his glass, more out of habit than want. With that, Enjolras stood up and left without looking back. He still felt Grantaire’s eyes on him, knowing full well, that the man would follow him after appropriate amount of time.


	15. Warming up hearts

_1832  
April_

Enjolras had decided to survey the number of their allies and that way, the number of the people, who yet had not to join their cause. The task would've been impossible for only one person alone and it had to be done in one day, since tomorrow, things could be different. So, he had gathered all the members of _Les Amis de l’ABC_ into Musain and told them his plan. He sent Courfeyrac to the polytechnic school, to count the students. Feuilly had earlier promised to do the count in La Glacièren and Combeferre wanted to go to the district of Picpus. Bahorel he ordered to l’Estrapade and Jehan to talk with Freemason’s to the Grenelle-Saint-Honoré street’s lodge. Joly was the obvious choice to check up on the medical students and Bossuet to the venue. Enjolras himself would go to la Cougourden. But one place still remained and Enjolras didn't know who to send there: Barrière du Maine, where sculptor studios' workers spend their time. They were easily excitable bunch, but their interested shifted inconveniently often.

“I do not know what has been the matter with them for some time past. They are thinking of something else. They are becoming extinguished. They pass their time playing dominoes. There is urgent need that some one should go and talk with them a little, but with firmness. They meet at Richefeu’s. They are to be found there between twelve and one o'clock. Those ashes must be fanned into a glow. For that errand I had counted on that abstracted Marius, who is a good fellow on the whole, but he no longer comes to us." Enjolras fell silent for a moment to think. “I need someone for Barrière du Maine, but I have no-one.”

“What about me?” Enjolras heard Grantaire ask. “Here am I.”

“You?" Enjolras sounded as dumbfounded as he felt.

"I." Grantaire replied confidently.

"You indoctrinate republicans? You warm up hearts that have grown cold in the name of principle?” Grantaire was the last person Enjolras had thought to the task and he hoped that the man was only joking.

“Why not?” Grantaire had now stood up and crossed his arms around his chest in determination. Enjolras realized his mistake for trying to talk Grantaire down. If he had dismissed him, he would've probably just succumbed back to drinking.

"Are you good for anything?” Enjolras frowned and took a step towards Grantaire.

“I have a vague ambition in that direction." Grantaire replied with a lazy smile playing on his lips. The threatening step, which Enjolras had taken, only made his heart flutter pleasantly.

“You don’t believe in anything.” Enjolras stated.

“I believe in you.” Grantaire’s words made Enjolras’ determination waver. Those words were spoken with serious, but at the same time, almost soft expression.

It took a moment for Enjolras to get an hold of himself again. To him, it felt like ages, but in truth, the moment of silence had lasted only half a second. “Grantaire, will you do me favor?” He finally spoke out, repressing his anger and fixing his gaze on Grantaire’s.

“Anything. I'll black your boots.” Grantaire blurted out, meeting Enjolras’ gaze without hesitation, making his meaning very clear. He smiled after that, seeing how uneasy it made Enjolras feel.

“Well, don’t meddle with our affairs. Sleep yourself sober from your absinthe.” Enjolras didn’t hide the anger from his voice now, making it clear to Grantaire, he didn't appreciate his behavior.

“You are ungrateful, Enjolras.” Grantaire whined and gazed at him with fake sadness on his face.

"You the man to go to the Barriere du Maine? You capable of it?" Enjolras still believed Grantaire was only seeking attention. That or, no matter what outcome they would come after this tiring conversation, he would eventually reveal he hadn't wanted to go in the first place.

Grantaire replied truthfully: he was capable of walking to Richefeu's and thus, capable of talking to those men and seek out their dedication toward Enjolras.

“Do you know anything of those comrades who meet at Richefeu’s?” Enjolras questioned then, swallowing the anger down once more. Wanting to demolish Grantaire’s sudden urge to do something with words, but they never seemed to quite bite on him.

“Not much. We only address each other as thou.” Grantaire admitted, but he didn't back off.

“What will you say to them?” Enjolras inquired then.

“I will speak to them of Robespierre, dammit! Of Danton. Of principles.” Grantaire stood up more vigorous, serious this time.

“You?” Enjolras lost his temper again. He couldn't believe that Grantaire truly thought he would be the best person to raise the spirits of republicans and above all, stubborn ones.

“ _Oui_ , I! You do not do me justice. When I set about it, I am terrible. I have read Prudhomme, I know the Social Contract, I know my constitution of the year Two by heart. ‘The liberty of one citizen ends where the liberty of another citizen begins.’ Do you take me for a brute? I have an old bank-bill of the Republic in my drawer. The Rights of Man, the sovereignty of the people, sapristi! I am even a bit of a Hebertist. I can talk the most superb twaddle for six hours by the clock, watch in hand.” Grantaire started to ramble.

“Be serious." Enjolras snapped and shook his head in frustration.

“I am wild!” Grantaire only shouted for a reply.

This was one of those times, when Enjolras felt Grantaire drain all his energy, to a pointless conversation like this. But then he realized that maybe this was a way to keep Grantaire away from the bottle. To give him something meaningful to do for once. Then he said with a stern voice: “Grantaire, I consent to try you. You shall go to Barrière du Maine.”

Enjolras saw Grantaire’s eyes lit up and he hurried off from the café. He came back after only five minutes, wearing a red vest instead of his usual green one. “Red!” He said the moment he emerged to the doorway and looked at Enjolras firmly. After that, he spread the points of the vest and twirled around once, as if to show the garment around, before buttoning it.

Enjolras recognized the vest right away. It belonging to him. He had forgotten it to Grantaire’s apartment this morning. He felt the heat rise up his back all the way to his neck, but managed to keep his discomfort from showing to others.

Then, with steady steps, Grantaire strode over to Enjolras. He stopped only, when he was standing right in front of him. So close, that their chest were almost touching. Enjolras suppressed the want to take a step or two back, when the closeness of Grantaire made him uncomfortable. But knowing full well, how odd it would seem to others, he stayed put and only watched as Grantaire rose to his tiptoes to whisper to his ear: “Be easy.” The warm breath against his ear send shivers down Enjolras’ spine.

Then Grantaire took a step back, pulled a hat to his head and left without another word. Enjolras stared after him with a dumbfound expression. Grantaire rarely approached him when they were accompanied by others. Maybe his self-esteem had gotten a major elevation, but Enjolras soon dismissed the thought. He didn't believe, that something like this would cause such a transition. How wrong he was, since Grantaire walked with light steps towards Barrière du Maine, extremely proud that Enjolras had trusted him with such an important task. He felt like he could conquer the world. Grantaire felt that if the revolution had started right at that moment, he would've fought the soldiers and national guards down, all by himself, to protect his Apollo.

 

 

After everyone had left to carry out their jobs, Enjolras closed the door of Musain behind himself. He headed towards his destination: la Cougourde, when a thought occurred to him. He wondered if he should visit Barrière du Maine, just to check up on how Grantaire was doing and the Richeuf’s tobacco restaurant wouldn't take him far from his original route. As he stepped inside the restaurant, it took him a moment to spot Grantaire, since the room was full of tobacco smoke. He leaned against the door and looked around. To his delight, the restaurant was full of people, so if Grantaire had done his job as he had promised to do, now was a good time to get to the people’s hearts.

Then, Enjolras heard Grantaire’s voice carry its way from the other side of the room. He was debating with somebody, but not about principles or even Danton, but about a game of domino. Enjolras listened at the heated quarrel, as disappointment filled his chest. From behind the smoke, he made out Grantaire’s figure and the glass of absinthe on the table in front of him.

“Bloody brat!” The man, who Grantaire had been playing with, suddenly shouted.

Enjolras had barely time to figure out Grantaire had won the game and at the same time had made his opponent utmost angry, when Grantaire jumped up from his seat. The man followed his movement and with two large steps was already in front of Grantaire’s face, gripping the front of his shirt, pinning him against the bar.

“You must have cheated, you little bastard!” The man shouted and started to go through Grantaire’s vest pockets, to find some proof and his lost money.

“Let’s not do anything we shall regret later.” Grantaire said with surprisingly calm voice, but when he was sure that the man was concentrated on searching through his pockets, he quickly wrapped his leg around his and kicked it right from the back of his knee, causing the man to lose his balance. Effortlessly, he pushed the man to the floor and prepared for the next attack, which came from the man who had been sitting on the table beside them.

Enjolras watched the events unfold in front of his eyes. But once he saw that the whole restaurant had stood up and was ready to join the fight against Grantaire, he quickly stepped in. As Grantaire hit the second man straight to his nose, he missed the other one, who launched himself towards him from behind. Enjolras managed to grip that man from the back of his collar and shoulder and pull him away from Grantaire. It was only then, when Grantaire saw Enjolras and a big smile appeared on his face.

“ _Holà_!” He greeted, like this was the most ordinary situation to meet. “You picked a bad time to show up to check up on me.”

Enjolras didn't answer, only gave a disappointed glare at him, before concentrating back to the fight. They were regrettably overpowered and their escape route had been cut. But even though Grantaire had taken a few drinks and he was small compared to many of the men surrounding them, one thing he never did was to lose a fight. Enjolras prepared himself for an attack from the nearest man and barely saw what Grantaire did next: he punched a man to his stomach with his elbow, to get close enough to another man, who was holding a walking stick, to snatch it away from him and whack him to his ankle with it. With something longer in his hands, Grantaire managed to keep most of the men aback, as he and Enjolras pushed their way to the outdoor.

“Run, run, run!” Grantaire repeated the moment they stepped outside and pushed Enjolras forward. He ditched the walking stick and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. “This way!” Grantaire suddenly shouted and turned to an alleyway.

“But that’s a dead-end!” Enjolras shouted, but Grantaire had already disappeared behind the corner. He had no other choice but to follow. Their way was stopped by a tall brick wall. “I told you we cannot pass.” Enjolras looked behind them to see if they still had time to escape, before the diners of Richefeu's restaurant caught up with them.

“And I am telling you we can.” Grantaire replied confidently and hurriedly walked to the right side of the wall. Enjolras followed him and now saw a narrow space between the two buildings, leading to the other side. It was just wide enough for a grown up man to travel sideways. “I hope I can still fit through this.” Grantaire muttered, as he took a deep breath to draw his stomach in and started to squeeze his way between the two walls. Enjolras glanced behind them, as he heard footsteps nearing. He waited until Grantaire had moved himself a few steps forward before following him. The bricks scratched his skin and clothes. Anyone, even slightly overweight, wouldn't have managed to follow them, which made this a perfect escape route. It seemed to last forever until the end drew near and Grantaire sighed in relief, as he stepped out to a wider space.

“How did you know this was here?” Enjolras asked as he looked around the space they were now in. They had come to a small, neglected garden. It was surrounded by tall brick walls and it looked like, whoever knew the location of this garden, had taken the knowledge to his grave. No windows from the nearest buildings faced it and it seemed, the way they had come from was the only way inside.

“Gavroche once showed it to me.” Grantaire explained, as he brushed the dirt and dust from his clothes. “Now your vest is ruined.” He then exhaled, as he examined his red vest which he had worn just for this occasion.

“I knew I should have not send you to talk with them.” Enjolras shook his head in disappointment and wished he could already leave the way he had come from, but it was certain that the men were still out there looking for them.

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, who didn't see the struck down look on his eyes, but only heard his next words spoken with tease: “I thought I could warm them up, just a little bit, before preaching to them. But as you said; they are an enthusiastic family, but liable to cool off."

“ _Oui_ , and that is why your job was to get their attention for that short time, to remind them of the bigger cause!” Enjolras turned sharply towards him, his eyes gleaming with that familiar fire. “But instead of the job I trusted you to do, you decided to take the most fun out of it and drink and gamble with them!"

“You never trusted me with it, did you?” Grantaire’s voice rose now to a same level and he stepped forward to challenge Enjolras. “If you had trusted me, you would have never come to check up on me.”

Enjolras let out a dry laugh and lifted his arms up in annoyance. “And I was correct! Now there is no time for me to do the count in la Cougourden.”

“You want to know what I believe?” Grantaire asked then and continued before Enjolras could answer no: “I believe, that you should talk to them just before the revolution. That way, their minds and hearts are turned towards the common goal and fiercely, by the way we just saw."

“I do not believe, they would welcome me at Richefeu's, after what we just did…” Enjolras murmured and wondered, if it was safe to leave already.

“I do.” Grantaire said firmly, not taking his eyes away from Enjolras’. “I meant what I said: I believe in you. None else than you, can make their hearts light on fire.”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire, carefully examining the truthfulness of his words. Then, he seemed to find what he was looking for and turned away. The tension still lingered between them and Grantaire was unsure, if Enjolras was still mad at him.

“Very well.” He said. “I admit, I made a mistake, but I promised you a favor and that is what I am going to fulfill."

Enjolras eyes shot up at him and a frown appeared between his eyebrows. “What is it?” He asked and took a step back, when Grantaire walked towards him. He had not even realized how close he had been standing against a wall, when his back hit against it. Grantaire invaded his personal space, standing close enough so their faces were merely inches away from each other.

“I told you, I can black your boots.” Grantaire said and without any more words or gestures, he got down to his knees.

Enjolras whole body tensed in discomfort. Grantaire grasped the waist of his trousers and started to pull them down, when Enjolras’ brought his hand down to clasp his, stopping him from what he was doing. Enjolras quickly looked around, even though he knew there was no one else but them.

“Be easy.” Grantaire knew immediately, what his tension meant. “Not a soul passes here and Gavroche is with Combeferre.” He felt the hand around his soften its grip and he moved it aside, to continue his task.

Enjolras was still looking towards the garden, as if waiting for someone to appear and see them at any moment. Grantaire didn't wait, as he took him whole into his mouth. Enjolras inhaled sharply and his eyes closed shut, as the warm wetness enclosed around him. He pressed his body against the wall, like he wanted to get as far away as possible from Grantaire.

Grantaire paid him no attention, as he ran his tongue against Enjolras and sucked lightly, enjoying the sound of sharp breaths the Apollo made, as he tried desperately to stay silent. Grantaire ran his hands against the muscles on Enjolras’ thighs. Enjolras looked down between his narrowed eyelids, but quickly closed them again when the pleasure build inside him. He tried to grasp on something but found only the cold brick wall behind him, digging his fingers to the hard surface. Grantaire’s other hand moved up to press against Enjolras’ stomach, feeling the muscles tighten against his palm, making it clear this moment was not going to last forever.

Enjolras lifted his right arm above his head. It hit the wall painfully, scratching the skin of his knuckles, but he didn't even notice it. A suffocated gasp escaped his mouth, as the pleasure overwhelmed him. He leaned heavily against the wall for support, as his eyesight started to return. Grantaire still sucked him, until he finally pulled his head away, wiping the corner of his mouth to his sleeve and lifting the waist of Enjolras’ trousers back up, like nothing had happened.

Enjolras dropped his hand back down and swallowed. “We should go.” He said bluntly and pushed himself away from the wall. Grantaire still sat on the ground on his knees and watched Enjolras disappear between the walls, not sparing even a glance towards him. Grantaire took the moment, to close his eyes and inhale deeply, before getting back up to his feet and following his Apollo.

 

 

On the following week, Enjolras stumbled upon two of the men, who he and Grantaire had fought against in Richefeu's restaurant. He was traveling alone and hoped, that the men wouldn't recognize him, as they passed each other on a narrow street. There wasn't another living soul around and Enjolras wasn't sure, he would be able to speak the men out of their decision to beat him to death, if they were to connect him to the fight last week. Enjolras kept his eyes fixated on the ground and held his breath, as the two large men walked pass him. They didn't seem to pay him any attention and he breathed out in relief. He had far more important things to carry out, than to fight with people who had lost their gamble against Grantaire.

“Hey, you!” Enjolras froze, when he heard a man’s voice echo from behind him. “Aren’t you the boy who whacked Sebastien to his leg?”

Enjolras decided, it was no use to try and hide his identity, although, they got him mixed up with Grantaire. So, he lifted his chin up high and turned around, facing the men with his sense of self-assurance.

“It is you!” The same man, who had spoken before, shouted and this time a huge smile appeared on his lips. Enjolras was taken aback a little, by this sudden change of mood and wondered what the men were up to. “Glad I could find you, boy.” The man now walked to him and patted his shoulder with force, but it still wasn’t a hostile gesture. “The another boy who was with you, the black-haired one, talked us about revolution and a better future. After we lost you, I started to think about his words. He was a bit of a babbler, but most of what he said was true.”

Enjolras couldn't do anything but to stare at the man. He hardly ever fell speechless, but this was one of those times.

“I have to admit, I was not interested of that sort of stuff before. Not even when he came in and started to talk, but while we played and drank, I must have started to listen to him. I apologize for reacting so violently after losing to him, but once I got it out of my system, I realized he was quite a funny bloke. Pass him my regrets, would you?” The man squeezed Enjolras’ shoulder one last time, before turning and walking away, chatting lightly with his friend.

Enjolras watched after them in confusion. He started to hope, that he had arrived earlier to the restaurant to hear Grantaire’s words to those men. For a moment, he even considered of asking Grantaire about what he had said to them, but the thought left him soon after.


	16. My eyes on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for taking so long to update. I just started a new job and moved to a new city, so things have been quite hectic. I'll try and upload a new chapter more often from now on.

_1832  
June_

 

Grantaire was in a good mood, as were the rest of the _Les Amis de l’ABC_. Only Enjolras was solemn, as he usually was, talking seriously together with Combeferre and Courfeyrac with lowered voice. Grantaire spent his time drinking together with Joly, they had played domino for a long while and talked about his Musichetta. Even Marius, who they hadn’t seen for months, had appeared to Corinthe. It had been a warm day and even the setting of the sun couldn't bring any refreshment to the people of Paris. The second-floor of Corinthe was packed with people and the burning candles didn't help, as they all tried to ease their bodies and cool down with a drink.

Grantaire had claimed over the bar at the back of Corinthe, together with Joly and Bossuet.

“What do you think will become of the revolution, R?” Joly inquired, wanting to hear the group’s cynic’s opinion, as the days count down to the revolution. For a moment, he feared the question was too much and had killed the jolly mood Grantaire had been in, but then his friend smiled widely.

“Do you even need to ask?” Grantaire replied and turned to look towards Bossuet. “As long as Bossuet is part of it, we are doomed to fail!”

Grantaire spoke with such a loud voice, the whole restaurant heard them and started to laugh. Bossuet, who was usually fine with his bad luck, looked almost ashamed, to be accused of ruining the revolution they had all been working towards for ages.

“Shut it, Grand R!” Bossuet said, a little angrily and since he didn't wish to spend more time with his two, nearly drunk friends, he joined Enjolras and his other friends to their table. Both, Joly and Grantaire only laughed to his reaction and resumed on drinking.

There was something in the air. Grantaire had sensed it for days now. It seemed, more and more people had started to gather to their meetings, to listen to Enjolras speak. In the past, that had been all they had done, but in the last two weeks, the men had started to ask questions and bring gun powder and other supplies inside the restaurant. It unnerved Grantaire, but he did his best to shut his eyes from it all and pretend not to notice the sudden shift in his life. There were whispers about revolution everywhere they went and people were getting more restless day by day. Enjolras most of all. He looked like he was ready to snap, if something wasn't going to happen soon. Grantaire observed him from the sideline, wishing it wouldn't come down to it.

“The time is near. So near, it's stirring the blood in their veins!” Enjolras' voice suddenly raised over the other noises inside Corinthe. Many lowered theirs or stopped talking altogether, but some were too excited and kept on chatting, which Enjolras didn't appriciate. “And yet beware!” He snatched a rifle away from one of the young boy's hands, who was eagerly pointing it towards a wall. The boy looked angry at first, but when he realized it had been Enjolras, who had taken away his “toy”, he quickly bowed his head and accepted his faith.

“Don't let the wine go to your brains!” Enjolras put the gun down and then turned towards Grantaire, as if he had heard him uncork his bottle and gave him that warning glare of his, but Grantaire couldn’t care less. He took a long sip from his bottle, keeping an eye contact with Enjolras and enjoyed to see his Apollo’s eyes narrow and the frustration, that he caused, to mull inside him. “We need a sign to rally the people, to call them to arms, to bring them in line!” Enjolras looked away from Grantaire and spoke with a loud and clear voice. This time, everyone went silent. He resumed with their planning, satisfied that he was finally able to hear his own thoughts from all the previous racket.

“Marius, wake up. What's wrong today?” Joly suddenly spoke out from beside Grantaire. He looked towards Marius, who was standing in the middle of the room, looking like he was completely in another world, more than usual that is. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

Grantaire grinned. He recognized that look and what was the cause of it. “Some wine and say what's going on.” He poured the boy a cup from his bottle and offered it to Marius, who took it with a nod and an embarrassed smile.

“A ghost you say... a ghost maybe.” Marius started and sat down by the nearest table. “She was just like a ghost to me. One minute there, then she was gone.”

Grantaire had been right. He sat beside the same table and leaned against it, wanting to know every little detail of this mysterious love interest of Marius’. “I am agog! I am aghast! Is Marius in love at last? I've never heard him 'ooh' and 'aah'.” He couldn’t resist to tease the boy and Joly laughed with him. Marius was fun to pick, since he rarely said anything, but only turned very uncomfortable looking. Enjolras tried to shut his ears from Grantaire’s voice. He had heard enough to know, that they weren't talking about revolution and about something as idle as Marius' infatuation.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was pretending to stare at the list of supplies they had made and stood up. “You talk of battles to be won!” Enjolras’ eyes shot up at him and Grantaire was once again amused to see the anger in them. “And here he comes like Don Juan. It's better than an opera!” He waved his hands towards Marius, who looked down at the surface of the table, trying to look as invisible as possible. Knowing full well, that Enjolras wouldn't be happy about their subject. Grantaire grinned widely and sat down again, lifting the bottle to his lips. This turned out to be a great night, he mused to himself.

Grantaire didn't see or hear Enjolras coming closer. Only the movement in the corner of his eye, of Enjolras sitting down to the chair beside him, made him turn his head and gaze into those deep hazel eyes. It was rare to be so close to him and even rarer for Enjolras to approach him in the middle of Corinthe. Almost instinctively, Grantaire put his bottle down, without ever taking that sip he had meant to. He wished he could reach out and touch Enjolras. He couldn't understand how, after all these years, his heart could still beat faster whenever Enjolras approached him.

“It is time for us all to decide who we are.” Enjolras said with his keen eyes locked to Grantaire’s. “Do we fight for the right to a night at the opera now?” He then turned to glance at Marius, who looked almost uncomfortable to be talking about this, with Enjolras of all people. He surely knew how to kill the mood. “Have you asked of yourselves what's the price you might pay?” Enjolras’ eyes returned back to Grantaire’s. Wanting him to realize this was not a game. It was real and happening and they all had to sacrifice something, probably even their lives, to make the revolution happen. “Is this simply a game for a rich young boy to play?” Enjolras could’ve been the common cliché of that boy, who had money and influential relations, but he wasn’t. He took this seriously and he hoped Marius would start to do so as well. “The colors of the world are changing day by day.”

“ _Red! The blood of angry men! Black! The dark of ages past!_ ” Enjolras started to sing the chant he used many times during his public speeches. It often rose the voices of the people to sing along and helped to lift their spirits. This day was no exception. But the first lines he had stated at Grantaire and Grantaire knew what he wished from him: to rise up and sing with him, to declare his loyalty towards the revolution, start taking it and his own life seriously. “ _Red! A world about to dawn! Black! The night that ends at last!_ ”

Enjolras left the table and when they all thought it would’ve been the end of the conversation, Marius suddenly stood up, almost sending the chair he had been sitting on, flying down to the floor.  
“Had you seen her today, you might know how it feels: to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight.” Marius spoke like a true man in love, wanting Enjolras to understand the feeling he had received, when looking at that girl.

Enjolras let out a humorless laugh and turned to leave back to his table, when Marius took hold of his arm and stopped him. Enjolras looked down to Marius’ hand, like he had just violated his personal space and gone way too far with his larking. Grantaire eyed their interaction, a little amused, but at the same time a little jealous of the way Marius was able to touch Enjolras and Enjolras not pulling his hand free, like the touch was something disgusting. He knew that would happen, if he would ever try and touch Enjolras in front of all these people.

“Had you been there today, you might also have known, how your world may be changed in just one burst of light.” Marius continued, but he didn't get through to Enjolras. “And what was right seems wrong and what was wrong seems right!”

“ _Red!_ ” Enjolras heard Grantaire’s voice sing out and he turned to look at him. He couldn't understand what had gone into both of his friends. Marius had gone delirious from his lust and Grantaire encouraged him. Then he realized why Grantaire did what he did: to mess with his mind and Enjolras tried his best not to let his frustration show. But Grantaire did see it and the wicked smile on his face confirmed that.

“ _I feel my soul on fire!_ ” Marius continued where Grantaire had left.

“ _Black!_ ” Again Grantaire. Enjolras tried to cast his most disappointed look towards him, but Grantaire was far too used to his glares, that he didn't even blink an eye.

“ _My world when she’s not there!_ ” And Marius. Enjolras found himself being disappointed by the young man. He had hoped Marius would eventually become interested in revolution and join their cause, but instead, he came here to talk about some girl who he hadn't probably even talked to and didn’t even know her name. Enjolras didn't know much about love, but he did know that what Marius felt towards that girl, was not love. It was lust, that kind which would disappear in a day or two or when he saw another, even more beautiful girl.

“ _Red!_ ” This time everyone joined in. Enjolras felt his annoyance rise. They were so close of revolution and changing the world and now everyone sang about love towards a complete stranger.

“ _It’s the color of desire!_ ”

“ _Black!_ ”

“ _It’s the color of despair!_ ” Finally, Marius finished.

Enjolras took a couple steps around to push his anger deep inside himself and calm his mind. Then he turned towards Marius, needing him to snap out of his silly line of thinking and return to the ones that mattered. 

“Marius, you're no longer a child. I do not doubt you mean it well, but now there is a higher call.” As hard as Enjolras tried to hide it, the frustration was clearly heard in his voice. “Who cares about your lonely soul? We strive towards a larger goal. Our little lives don't count at all!”

Enjolras knew he had gotten through to him, when Marius' expression changed from that dreamy, hopeful little boy, to a serious thinking and maybe even regretting. Grantaire hated the feeling he got, when Enjolras said the last lines. Enjolras would die for his cause, sooner or later. He truly believed, that one’s life meant nothing compared to a greater good. Grantaire just wished there was a greater good to achieve.

“ _Red!_ ” Enjolras started once again and this time he got his friends to join him: “ _The blood of angry men! Black! The dark of ages past!_ ” Even Grantaire showed where his loyalties were, as he sang along with the rest of them. He hoped Enjolras felt at least a little bit proud of him. Then Enjolras turned his gaze at him and the corner of his mouth rose to a smile. Grantaire felt the familiar feeling, like something got alive, deep inside his chest and for that smile, Grantaire was willing to do anything. “ _Red! A world about to dawn! Black! The night that ends at last!_ ”

“Listen everybody!” Gavroche rushed up the stairs, trying desperately to get all their attention. “General Lamarque is dead!”

After those four words, Grantaire couldn't hear a thing. He knew what it meant, since this was something Enjolras had been waiting for. This was the sign he had been talking about earlier. General Lamarque’s death was the start of the revolution.

“Lamarque! His death is the hour of fate.” Enjolras started to speak, but Grantaire heard none of it. The feeling of belonging among the rebels while they had sang, left Grantaire as soon as Enjolras’ eyes.

“The time is here! Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer. Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts, but a jubilant shout: they will come one and all, they will come when we call!” Enjolras finished his speech, receiving a respectful silence after it, as everyone present in the room honored the passing of General Lamarque and the upcoming revolution.

Grantaire couldn't tear his eyes away from Enjolras, he still hoped from the bottom of his heart, that Enjolras would change his mind, even though he knew he would never do such a thing. Enjolras had suddenly turned to look at him and this time there wasn't even a hint of a smile on his lips, only serious calmness. Grantaire lowered his gaze and his eyes fixated on the bottle he had left on the table. He swallowed and looked back up at Enjolras. The frown had deepened on his face and his eyes glared at him, warning him to take that bottle. Grantaire smiled, without any humor behind it and then snatched the bottle into his hand, taking a long gulp from it. As he put the bottle back down, he saw Enjolras shake his head in disappointment and then turn his mind back on the people around them and starting to give orders for everyone, so they could start preparing themselves for the revolution.

In the middle of Enjolras’ orders, Marius suddenly rushed to the staircase. Enjolras followed him go with his eyes, clearly questioning his action. Grantaire, who had been watching Enjolras, noticed his confusion and followed his gaze to Marius. Their friend was talking with a dark-haired girl, who was a common acquaintance for both; Grantaire and Enjolras. She was the girl, who Grantaire had met in the dances and had given her a place to stay for a night. Grantaire hadn't known she knew Marius and it seemed Enjolras hadn't either. Maybe, she was even the girl Marius had been talking about. They exchanged a few quick words, before Marius rushed off. Grantaire observed the girl, who gazed after Marius with a deep longing in her eyes and he had a sense that he knew how she was feeling: love for someone, who could never love them back. The girl suddenly looked up at Enjolras and a wide smile appeared on her face. She waved her hand at him and then turned to look at Grantaire. To him, she smiled, almost wickedly, before nodding firmly. Grantaire shook his head, but returned the smile. After that, the girl disappeared, following Marius. Grantaire felt Enjolras’ eyes on him. He looked to his direction, only to see Enjolras quickly look away. Matelote was pouring Enjolras a glass of water. Grantaire noticed how she was eyeing him, wishing to get his attention or at least a look of acknowledgement, but Enjolras didn’t even glance at her way. Grantaire let out a sight. His thoughts returned to the girl and he thought, at least, he had things better than her: he could always think, that he was the only one Enjolras even thought about that way. Enjolras never looked towards anyone the way Marius had looked, when he had talked about his love. But that was the thing: he didn't even look towards Grantaire.

 

 

Grantaire thought about his father: his dead eyes staring at him. The memory still haunted him in his dreams. He had been only nine years of age, when his father had taken his own life, all of their lives. Grantaire had to take another long gulp from his bottle, since now, the face of his father was replaced by Enjolras' and he couldn’t stand the image of Enjolras’ beautiful eyes glazed with death. They would all die. He knew that. He had returned to his apartment, not long after Marius had left. He hadn't been able to stand the feeling to see all his friends prepare themselves to their doom.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras’ voice made Grantaire look up towards the door. Enjolras had silently come inside and was now standing at the middle of the room.

Grantaire had to swallow, his throat was so hoarse that he was afraid his voice would fail him if he tried to talk. So, he decided to stay silent and take another drink instead. While his eyes were away from Enjolras, he heard the man come closer.

“Why are you here?” Enjolras now crouched in front of him and stared at him with intense. “We need every man we can, to prepare for the revolution and you hide here to drink?”

Grantaire met Enjolras’ stare and wanted nothing more than just to pull him closer and never let him go, but instead he took another sip of alcohol.

“I thought you wanted to help. That today, you were motivated to stand by us.” Enjolras kept a pause and waited for Grantaire to say something, anything, but he stayed silent. Enjolras was disappointed, more than words could tell. “Fine. Do what you wish. I do not care.” He said angrily and stood up so fast, that Grantaire barely had time to comprehend it.

Enjolras had already turned around when Grantaire shouted: “We are all going to die! Don’t you see that, Enjolras?” He stumbled up to his feet, leaning against the wall behind him as the world around him turned.

Enjolras stopped and turned to look at him, mouth slightly open, as if he had planned to say something, but was unable to pronounce it. When Enjolras didn’t talk, Grantaire felt the need to continue his outburst: “France is not ready for the revolution. No matter how hard you try and want it to be. People are only talking and it never leads anywhere.”

Grantaire saw the anger swirl inside Enjolras and at this situation, he hated to see it, but he had to at least try and make Enjolras understand where he was coming from. He knew Enjolras would never understand, but he had to try.

Enjolras closed his mouth and clenched his jaw before replying: “Have you even been out there?” Enjolras was shouting now. He closed the distance between them to shout at Grantaire’s face. “There are hundreds of people gathering around the city, collecting firearms and believing in what we are about to achieve.”

Grantaire felt spit on his face, but he didn’t even flinch. He felt his eyes blur again with unshed tears and his voice broke as he spoke: “They will not rise, Enjolras. Do not doubt, that I do not wish they would, but people are not like you. They talk, like I do, but they do not do anything when the time comes.”

“You talk about believing in me. Yet, you doubt me and the revolution.” Enjolras sounded almost offended.

“I do believe in you!” Grantaire felt his patience grow short. He wanted to explain his thought to Enjolras, but it seemed like he wasn't listening. “But I do not believe in the people of France.”

For a moment Enjolras just stared at him. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he was thinking about his words or just classified him as mad. “You are wrong, Grantaire.” He then said with a low voice. “They will rise.”

Grantaire watched as Enjolras turned around and headed towards the door. “Please, stay.” Even to himself, his voice sounded unfamiliar and pathetic, but no matter what, he didn't wish to be alone right now.

Enjolras had stopped and turned his head slightly towards him. “Sleep your drunkenness off.” He then said plainly and had time to take only one step forward, when he felt Grantaire’s body slam against his back and his arms wrap around his body.

“Please, stay.” Grantaire repeated and buried his face against Enjolras' back, his voice was muffled by his shirt. “I do not wish to be alone.”

There was a moment of silence, when Enjolras just stood there and Grantaire clung on to him with his dear life. “Sleep.” Enjolras finally replied and unwrapped Grantaire’s arms from around him almost forcefully. He left Grantaire standing there, in the middle of the room, alone and frightened.

Grantaire watched the door being closed behind Enjolras, before slowly making his way to the bed and laying down. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, with all the alcohol in his body, but in that time, he sobbed loudly until there were no more tears left to cry.

As Grantaire fell to his restless slumber, he was almost certain that he felt a kiss on his forehead and a hand caress his hair. But he had to be dreaming.

 

Grantaire made his way to Corinthe. The day was irritatingly bright and it felt like the sunlight would cut his eyes to half. He staggered along the streets, without caring about the long and disgraceful looks he got. Grantaire was surprised to see Joly and Bossuet standing in front of Corinthe and laughing about something.

“ _Bonjour_.” Grantaire greeted them, when he remembered that it was already over noon, so his friends were probably here pretending to like Madame Hucheloup’s cooking and not drinking decent coffee before continuing their daily routines.

“ _Bonjour_ , R!” Bossuet replied and clapped his shoulder as he passed by. “Haven’t seen you for a while.” He joked as they were used to see Grantaire in Corinthe, early in the morning. 

“I’ve been busy.” Grantaire lied and tried not to look as annoyed as he felt, to see Bossuet so perky. It seemed he had already forgotten Grantaire's joke last night.

As Grantaire stepped inside, he almost ran into Enjolras’ turned back, as he was talking with Combeferre. Grantaire rounded him and made his way towards the staircase, only greeting them with a tired voice. Bossuet and Joly had followed him inside and got his attention by joking about hangover. Eventually, Grantaire smiled to their stupid jokes and he was glad that they tried to get his mood up.

“Why are you here?” Enjolras suddenly stepped in front of Grantaire, giving him a stern look. He expected for Grantaire to hesitate, maybe even leave, but besides confusion by Enjolras sudden approach, Grantaire’s expression didn't change at all. Joly looked between the two, interested to hear what they were talking about, but Bossuet hurried him to climb the stairs, so he had to miss their conversation.

“I already told you.” Grantaire replied and gazed at him with strangely soft eyes. Like he had forgotten everything he had said last night. They stood abnormally close to each other; their faces only inches apart and Grantaire couldn't help his eyes for looking down on Enjolras’ lips. He could feel Enjolras’ breath against his face and then Enjolras took a step back. He headed upstairs and Grantaire followed him.

 

 

Corinthe had never been as full of people as it was that night. The citizens all over Paris had gathered underneath its roof and many were standing outside since they couldn't fit in. Enjolras was excited, Grantaire could see it from across the room. He tried to talk to as many men as possible, shaking hands and smiling. Grantaire had never seen Enjolras smile so much, it made him forget about the inevitable doom that they were facing.

“Citizens!” Enjolras had stood up on a chair near the entrance, so everybody could see him better. Normally, he didn't wish to stand taller than any others, but today demanded for him to be seen. “Tomorrow is the day we have been waiting for! The funeral of general Lamarque is the sign we have been given. His death, his sacrifice, shall lead us to the new beginning. One more day and we shall be free!”

Grantaire watched as Enjolras stepped down and headed outside, continuing with his speech. Grantaire wished he had picked up a bottle before coming downstairs, since now he yearned for a drink, but hearing Enjolras’ voice prevented him for climbing upstairs. He wanted to show Enjolras he could be there for him.

“One more day before the storm!” Enjolras walked through the crowd outside, greeting every new face he met, clasping their shoulders and encouraging them to join the revolution. He returned inside. An older man, who Enjolras had seen many times listening to his speeches, shook his hand eagerly. “At the barricade of freedom, when our ranks begin to form…” Enjolras walked across the room, he spotted Madame Hucheloup sitting beside a table, sewing the red banner of revolution. Enjolras took her hand and kissed it, giving her a grateful smile for her hard work.

Madame Hucheloup had always liked Enjolras. Ever since Grantaire had brought his friends to Corinthe, both her and her late husband had thought Enjolras would achieve great things in life and this would be the start of it.

“…will you take your place with me?” Enjolras walked pass Grantaire and climbed half way the stairs to face the people, who all looked up at him in admiration. But none as much as Grantaire, who was the first to follow Enjolras upstairs.

The muskets were passed around, counted and prepared for tomorrow. The gunpowder was stored on the table at the corner. Along with every new man coming to the restaurant, came another gun and more powder. Grantaire watched the commotion around him, helping every once in a while when asked. Otherwise, he stuck by the bar, slowly drinking from his bottle.

Enjolras kept an eye on how things were proceeding. He ordered people to take note of every gun and weapon they received, so they knew how many they could afford to arm tomorrow. Enjolras helped to clean the muskets and reload them, his eyes searched through the crowd and he saw Grantaire talking with Joly beside the bar, which wasn't surprising. They had much to do and time grew short. He knew many would’ve offered to stay at the restaurant through the night, but he also knew they all needed sleep to endure whatever tomorrow brought with it. Enjolras showed Gavroche how to handle a gun, when he saw from the corner of his eye Grantaire walk pass him. He looked up and their eyes locked. Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, before continuing with advising Gavroche.

Once, his eyes locked with Enjolras’, Grantaire saw an odd look pass his eyes. He felt the lump in his throat again, which hadn't left him since the day they had heard about general Lamarque's passing. He quickly looked away and searched for unopened bottle, which Gibelote had brought for him. He still couldn't resist the urge to glance back towards Enjolras, who had already turned his attention elsewhere and was advising Gavroche of how to handle a gun. Their time was growing short. Only one more day to live.


	17. I do not need you

_1832  
June_

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire stirred in his sleep. He dreamed that he was standing in front of a large barricade, built from all sort of furniture. On top, was the bed from Enjolras' childhood home. Somehow, Grantaire knew his friends were on the other side. He heard Enjolras calling out his name. He tried to answer, to ensure Enjolras that he was there, but when he opened his mouth, not a sound came out.

“Grantaire?”

This time Grantaire opened his eyes. He thought he had heard someone call out his name. At first he saw nothing in the dark room, but then he spotted a dark figure in the middle of the room, moving closer. But Grantaire wasn't afraid, since he would recognize Enjolras anywhere. He rose to lean against his elbows, when Enjolras crawled to the bed and on top of him, capturing his lips at the same time. Grantaire ran his hand through Enjolras’ hair. It must’ve been raining outside, since his hair was wet and Enjolras smelled like rain.

Enjolras pulled away from him, sat astride over his hips and started to take off his red jacket. Grantaire gazed up at Enjolras, feeling the breath seize in his chest when he saw Enjolras look back at him with that intense look in his eyes. Grantaire had to swallow to get himself breathing again and his eyes lowered to Enjolras’ waist. He reached out to pull Enjorals' trousers down. Suddenly, Enjolras leaned towards him again, pushing him down to the bed with the weight of his body. Grantaire closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Enjolras, keeping him close. He cherished the feeling of Enjolras there in his arms. He felt a light kiss on his neck, right below his right ear and turned his head slightly towards it without even thinking.

Grantaire’s vision blurred. He held onto Enjolras like he was the last string keeping him in this life. He wrapped his legs around his hips and breathed in the familiar scent. This was too much for him to handle. The feeling of losing Enjolras was unbearable. Grantaire tried to hide his tears from him, but Enjolras lifted his head and looked straight at him. Grantaire tried to look away, not wanting to seem weak in front of Enjolras at a moment like this, but Enjolras took hold of his chin and almost forcefully turned his face towards him, so Grantaire had no choice but to look at him.

“The people of France will rise.” Enjolras said with a firm voice, staring into Grantaire’s eyes, as if searching for some sort of understanding in them.

Grantaire found himself unable to answer. He wished he could lie and confirm Enjolras’ belief, but he feared his voice would betray him. So, instead, he nodded.

Enjolras gazed into Grantaire’s eyes, knowing that he didn't believe him. If he had, Enjolras wouldn't be there. He would be sleeping, gathering his strength for the day to come. But Grantaire truly thought this was their last night and Enjolras knew Grantaire needed this for that exact reason. Enjolras moved his hand from Grantaire’s jaw, up to his cheek and wiped the tears away with his thumb.

Grantaire’s mouth went dry, as he felt Enjolras’ thumb move against his skin. Then his mouth was covered again and Grantaire parted his lips, letting Enjolras’ tongue inside his mouth. He moved his hand from Enjolras’ back to his front and started to unbutton his waistcoat. But before he was able to get Enjolras’ upper body bare, he tore Grantaire’s shirt from top of him. When Grantaire was able to get his head free from inside his shirt, Enjolras had moved over his lower body and took off his trousers. Grantaire reached down and took hold of the back of Enjolras' shirt, trying to pull it off from him. Enjolras aided him by struggling free from it and Grantaire let out a gasp as Enjolras took him inside his mouth. Grantaire was about to throw Enjolras' shirt down to the floor, but then he changed his mind and brought it closer to his face. The shirt smelled of sweat and Corinthe, but also of Enjolras himself. Grantaire inhaled the familiar scent and then pressed is over his mouth, as he let out a moan. Then he felt Enjolras' mouth leave him and he quickly discarded the shirt. It fell between the bed and the wall. 

Enjolras had replaced his mouth with his hand, stroking Grantaire slowly. When the shirt was gone, Grantaire found himself missing the presence of Enjolras and he sat up to wrap his arms around him. He sought out Enjolras' mouth and kissed him desperately. He felt Enjolras' palm press against his back, keeping him close. Slowly, Enjolras moved to get to his knees and lowered Grantaire back down to the bed. He was about to get back up to get rid of his trousers, but Grantaire held onto him so tight, that he had no choice but to take off his trousers while Grantaire was hugging him and kissing his shoulder. He reached out to dip his fingers inside a cup of linen oil, which Grantaire kept on his table for his paintings. He slid his finger inside Grantaire, but before he was able to add another finger, Grantaire gently pulled his hand away. 

As Enjolras looked at him with question, Grantaire only pulled his body closer. Enjolras’ lips found his again and his tongue slid over his upper lip. Grantaire kissed him back and kept Enjolras' face close by pressing his hand behind his neck. He could feel Enjolras’ arousal against his and savored he feeling as Enjolras started to move inside him. 

Grantaire knew every touch, every kiss and every glance could be their last. Tomorrow everything would be different. Tomorrow Enjolras would die and he would die with him. If not physically, then mentally. The thought made it almost impossible for Grantaire to breathe, but he forced air into his lungs, so he wouldn't pass out in the middle of the last perfect moment of his life.

He wanted this moment to last forever, but he was unable to stop it. He took Enjolras’ face between his hands, needing to look into his eyes as the pleasure overtook him and even though Enjolras was close to follow him, his eyes still fixated on his. Grantaire thought there was nothing as beautiful as those eyes, right at this moment; pupils dilated and staring intensively back at him. Grantaire watched as Enjolras broke the eye-contact, like he always did and stared somewhere towards his lips. Grantaire held onto his body as he came, wishing he could keep him safe like this for eternity. But then his eyes started to get heavy and before he was able to protest, Enjolras had rolled off from top of him. Grantaire watched him, wondering if he would leave. Enjolras stared at the ceiling for a moment longer before turning to look at him.

“Sleep. I will be here when you wake up.” Enjolras reassured him, like it was the most obvious thing to do.

Grantaire found himself smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a sad smile: a smile of a man, who wished he could turn back time and do things differently. Grantaire shifted closer to Enjolras, only slightly and then stopped, as if waiting for him to object. Enjolras looked back at the ceiling again and Grantaire thought it was the gesture he had been waiting for and he closed his eyes and waited for the restless sleep to reach him. Then he felt Enjolras shift beside him and opened his eyes in alarm, thinking that he would leave, but instead of sitting up, Enjolras had moved closer and reached out his arm, as if inviting Grantaire into his embrace. Grantaire was so stunned, that it took him a moment to react and Enjolras was about to move his arm back to his lap, when Grantaire crawled to his side and wrapped his arms around him. It didn't take long for Grantaire to fall asleep, safe in Enjolras' arms.

 

 

Grantaire found himself standing in front of the barricade again, but this time the beautiful, large bed of Enjolras' had changed to his old and worn one. It was dreadfully quiet on the other side. He couldn't hear Enjolras' voice anymore. Grantaire called out his name, but there was no answer. He took hold of one of the chairs, which belonged to café Musain, and tried to pull it off, to tear down the whole barricade, but it didn't even budge. He took a step back and called out for Enjolras again, but the whole Paris was silent. He felt abandoned. He looked up again and made his decision to follow his friends and so, he started to climb. But no matter how hard he climbed, the ground was still as close as in the beginning. 

 

 

When Grantaire woke up, he was alone in the bed. He lifted his head in confusion and reached out to touch the empty space on the mattress to find it still warm. He heard a floor board creak and turned to see Enjolras standing fully dressed by the window, gazing outside to the still empty street, which slowly lit up by the sunlight.

Grantaire was fairly sure Enjolras hadn't noticed him waking up, so he took the opportunity to gaze at him and trying to forget that this was the last sunrise he would ever see. But it was impossible though and the feeling clutched onto his stomach and he felt like throwing up. Slowly, he sat up. The sound of blanket shuffling, made Enjolras turn around. Grantaire averted his gaze, knowing that his feelings reflected straight through his eyes and he didn't wish for Enjolras to see that.

“I will leave shortly to Lamerque’s funeral.” Enjolras said and looked down at his outfit. He needed to change his clothes before that. Fortunately, his apartment was on the way.

“Give me just a minute.” Grantaire said hurriedly. He looked around the room for his clothes and noticed his trousers laying on the floor next to the bed. He reached down to pick them up, when he noticed that his hands were shaking. He had a bottle of wine, just next to the bed and was about to pick it up to take just one little swig, when Enjolras' words interrupted him:

“You are not joining me.”

Grantaire straightened his back and looked at him in confusion. “Why not?”

“I do not need you there.” Enjolras stated simply, almost coldly, and Grantaire had to swallow the dryness from his throat. He then realized he was sitting naked beside the bed and quickly covered himself with the blanket, as if ashamed to be seen by Enjolras.

“But I…” Grantaire tried to collect his thoughts and say something, to make Enjolras understand that he wished to be there.

“Sleep.” Enjolras ordered once again. He made a move to walk towards the door, but something stopped him. For a moment he just stood there, looking like he was hesitating. Grantaire wished he was reconsidering of allowing him to join him, but then he said with a low voice: “ _Au revoir_ , Grantaire.”

With those words, Enjolras walked through the door and closed it behind himself, leaving Grantaire to sit there, staring after him. The room was filled with silence, until a broken sob echoed through it. Grantaire clutched on to the duvet and tried fiercely to understand what had just happened. He had no information of what would happen after the funeral. Surely, his friends were going to gather somewhere, but he had no idea where. After sitting by the bed for a long while, he stood up and started to search for his clothes.

He was able to find his waistcoat, trousers and shoes, but his shirt was no where to be found. He then noticed something white sticking out from between the bed and the wall and he crawled over the bed to pull out Enjolras' shirt, which he had tossed there last night. For a moment he was confused, until he realized Enjolras must've mistaken Grantaire's shirt for his. Without hesitation, Grantaire pulled it over himself and enjoyed the smell of Enjolras around him. He was about to head out, when he found his light brown jacket, hanging from the edge of the mirror. He pulled it on, when he noticed the cockade on the collar from the reflection of the mirror. He lowered his arms and looked at the tiny piece of object, which represented the whole revolution. He still remembered the day Enjolras and passed them out to everyone. He had walked around the back room of Musain, handing one to each one of the _Les Amis de l'ABC_. But as he had gotten to Grantaire, he had stopped and ignored his stretched out hand and instead put it onto his collar by himself, as if hadn't trusted Grantaire to put it on himself. Grantaire remembered feeling quite hurt, but had still enjoyed the feeling of Enjolras' fingers working on his jacket. As he recalled the day, Grantaire felt even more hurt by Enjolras' rejection in the morning. He would've done anything for him, but instead, he was tossed aside, right at he most important day. So, Grantaire took the jacket off, almost fiercely, and tossed it to the floor before walking out of the door.

 

 

For anyone else, the choice could have been hard, but for Grantaire it was not such. He didn't even think about any other possibility. His plan was to get drunk and then join Enjolras where ever he would end up over the course of revolution. His first stop was Corinthe and Grantaire was pleased to see his two friends sitting at one of its tables.

“I was passing by and I smelled from the street a delicious odour of brié-cheese. So I came inside.” Grantaire announced his presence to Bossuet and Joly. He dragged a third chair to their table and sat down. From an old habit, Gibelotte brought two bottles of wine under his nose.

“Are you planning to finish both of the bottles?” Bossuet asked, eyeing them warily. Not wanting to repeat the same incidence, where Grantaire would be too drunk to understand how annoying he gets and when he has to get mad, before he could get him quiet.

“Everyone here are intelligence, you alone are stupid.” Grantaire said with a dull smile. Gibelotte seemed pleased of Grantaire’s remark and headed towards her other tasks. “Two bottles have never frightened one man.”

As Joly and Bossuet started to eat their breakfast, Grantaire didn't even touch the food and instead drank like there was no tomorrow.

“You apparently have a hole in your stomach.” Bossuet remarked dryly, wishing Grantaire would get his hint and slow down his pace.

“And you in an elbow.” Grantaire eyed Bossuet’s worn out shirt, wishing to direct the conversation to somewhere else than his drinking. “Bossuet, you vulture among corpse speakers, your coat is old.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Bossuet only smiled at him. “That is why me and my coat fit together so well. It has formed to my body, it does not bother me at all and it adjusts to my every move; I do not feel its existence except when it keeps me warm. Old clothes are like old friends.”

“That is true!” Joly suddenly shouted, joining the conversation. “Old coat is an old friend.”

Grantaire shook his head and took a long drink. No coat could replace Enjolras.

“Do you come to the boulevard, Grantaire?” Bossuet then asked, making Grantaire’s stomach turn again.

“No.” He simply stated, not moving his eyes from the bottle. He still heard Enjolras' voice in his head as he said: I do not want you there. It was more than enough to stay away, for now at least. Grantaire would seek Enjolras out once he had drank enough and half a bottle of wine was far from enough.

“Joly and I just saw the beginning of the funeral procession.” Bossuet explained. Grantaire wondered if they were planning on joining the others, but at least it seemed they were not in a hurry.

“It was a peculiar sight.” Joly continued.

The conversation turned to cloisters and nuns. Grantaire had reached his first state of drunkenness and much for Bossuet’s nuisance, he started to ramble about library on Richelieu-street, a girl who became a banker’s wife and symbols of peace and war. After that he stretched his cup towards Joly, who filled it, despite of Bossuet’s warning look. Grantaire finished the cup in a second and continued his speech. Somehow he ended up to Turkish dancers, Bossuet’s bald head and a broken lantern he saw on his way there.

“And now I turn to melancholy again. This is what you get when an oyster and revolution goes to wrong pipe. How cruel is this old world!” Grantaire finished his outburst and started to cough loudly.

“Speaking of revolution…” Joly turned his attention away from Grantaire. “…it seems Marius is indeed in love.”

“Do you know to whom?” Bossuet inquired, but Joly had no more information to share.

“Marius in love!” Grantaire got exited again, remembering the way he teased Marius only a couple days ago. Then he started to ramble on about the love he was certain Marius was experiencing right at the moment, his mind turning towards Enjolras. “I know just what it’s like: ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. Pure on earth, but joined in heaven. They are souls possessed of senses. They lie among the stars.”

Bossuet doubted Grantaire had ever even experienced love like that, but Joly knew he had, maybe not in real life but in his imagination surely. Grantaire opened his second bottle and was about to pour its contest into his cup, when he decided against it and instead took a swig straight from the bottle. As he was about to open his mouth again, a boy, probably ten years of age, emerged on top of the stairs. The three friends looked at him in confusion.

The boy looked between the three, clearly deciding that Bossuet was the most sober one and asked: “Are you _Monsieur_ Bossuet?”

“That is my nickname.” Bossuet replied, a little surprised that this boy would know it. “What do you want with me?”

“A tall blond fellow on the boulevard said to me…” The boy started.

No one noticed the way Grantaire’s hazy eyes suddenly sharpened and he looked at the boy intensively. He knew right away, who this little boy was talking about and was eager to hear what he had to say.

“…’Do you know Mother Hucheloup?’ I said: ‘ _Oui_. Rue Chanvrerie, the old man’s widow.’ He said to me: ‘There you will find Monsieur Bossuet. Tell him for me: A B C.’” The boy continued. He thought it was a joke on Bossuet. Enjolras had rewarded him with ten sous. How wrong he was.

“Joly, lend me ten sous.” Bossuet asked from him and then turned towards Grantaire: “Grantaire, lend me ten sous.”

Bossuet gave the boy the twenty sous they gathered and he thanked politely, thinking this was the easiest prank he had ever had the pleasure of delivering. They learned that the boy was Navet, Gavroche’s friend and asked him to join them for breakfast, but he was part of the procession, so he had to hurry back to his duties.

Once the boy was gone, Grantaire filled the silenced room by rambling about gamins, which neither Bossuet nor Joly paid much attention to.

“A B C, that is to say: the burial of Lamarque.” Bossuet thought out loud, wondering who had send the message.

“The tall blonde…” Grantaire had ended his rambling and sobered enough to concentrate on the topic of the talk. “…is Enjolras, who is sending you a warning.” He knew better than anyone how to understand Enjolras’ cues.

“Shall we go?” Bossuet, who was the most clear headed of them all, asked, but his friends were not as eager to find out what Enjolras was warning about. Joly didn't wish to get wet, since he was already sick.

“I shall stay here.” Grantaire spoke out. “I prefer a breakfast to a hearse.” He explained, but it was quite not true. He did prefer food over funeral, but the main reason he didn't go was Enjolras.

“Conclusion: we remain. Well then, let us drink.” Bossuet gave up on trying to be the sensible one of the pack and took the bottle from Grantaire’s hand, pouring himself a cup. He had wished he could go, but wherever Joly was, he was there too. “Besides, we might miss the funeral without missing the riot.”

“The riot! I am with you!” Joly cried out and drank from his cup.

“Now we are going to touch up the revolution of 1830. As a matter of fact, it does hurt the people among the seams.” Bossuet said with a lazy smile.

“I don’t care much about your revolution.” Grantaire declared, knowing that his friends didn't care much of his reasonings. He feared the revolution. He knew the outcome before it started, but he also knew he would go through with it, as long as Enjolras was part of it, no matter what. Enjolras would never surrender and thus, he would lead both; himself and Grantaire to their deaths. Grantaire still had a change to leave, to escape the ultimate fate and live, but it wasn’t an option for him, it never had been.

Grantaire sat in his chair, fallen silent again. Bossuet was glad he had reached the state of drunkenness of not speaking out nonsense, but this wasn't good either.

“Enjolras despises me.” Grantaire suddenly muttered and stared solemnly at his bottle. “Enjolras thought: Joly is sick and Grantaire’s drunk. That is why he sent Navet to Bossuet. If the boy had come here to pick me up, I would have gone.” His voice was full of sadness and the alcohol in his breathe made him sound even more wretched than usual. Then he suddenly lifted up his chin and with a much clearer voice he spoke out, still speaking to his bottle: “Too bad for Enjolras! I won’t go to his funeral.” He wouldn't go, since he would also be dead, but even if he didn't die today, as was highly unlikely, he would still refuse to attend Enjolras’ funeral. At least at this moment, he was too mad to even consider it. He had been there for Enjolras from the day they had met and was willing to die beside him in a revolution he didn't even care about. And how Enjolras rewarded him? With nothing! He wasn’t even allowed to die. How pathetic was that? With these thoughts in mind, Grantaire and his friends consumed even more alcohol, until it was already noon.

It was then, when Grantaire discarded wine for being too mild to bring down his miserable thoughts. He asked Matelote to bring him a mixture of spirit, beer and absinthe. Both, Bossuet and Joly, looked in disgust as Grantaire downed the first gulp. They had only once tasted that horrible, men tipping, liquid and had spent the next three days in bed. But Grantaire needed that to drown his misery.

At two in the afternoon, Joly asked for Matelote and Madame Hucheloup for not to serve Grantaire any more drinks. Even though, his friend was at much happier state, he was throwing his money away like maniac and at this rate would kill himself before it was even sunset.

“Courfeyrac! Hellooo!” Bossuet’s sudden shout made Joly look outside the window, where his friend had been shouting out from. He saw the rest of their group marching towards Corinthe, with a huge mob of men behind them. Enjolras was leading this huge group and behind him followed Gavroche, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Bahorel. The revolution had begun.


	18. I'll condemn myself to death

_June  
1832_

Bossuet hurried downstairs, to help the other to build up the barricade. Joly, who didn't wish to get wet, stayed upstairs with Grantaire and watched in delight as the barricade rose in less than an hour. Even Madame Hucheloup and her waitresses lend a hand, but soon the Madame got enough of the racket and joined them to the second floor, muttering something about the world’s end.

Joly kissed Madame Hucheloup’s neck, which had the desired outcome: the old lady calmed down and went to fetch him a new drink, a little embarrassed blush on her face.

“Did you know, my friend, that I consider woman’s neck very delicious?” Joly asked with a slurred voice, but Grantaire gave his words only little value and he did better by abducting Matelote, who had returned upstairs, into his armpit and dragged her over to the open window. He squeezed her tightly against his side, so the girl had no other choice but to stand there for everyone to see, blushing. 

Down at the barricade, Courfeyrac listened to Grantaire’s foul speech about Matelote’s appearance and how he would be a noble contributor, if he had the money. To Courfeyrac, Grantaire was the most important friend, who he had known since they were just two nine year-old rascals and no one could hear him say bad things about his friends, but when R was this drunk, Courfeyrac found himself feeling spite towards him. He knew what Grantaire aimed to do with his speech, which was clearly meant to the fair-haired man standing on top of the barricade and Courfeyrac knew how much Enjolras despised both: the speech and Grantaire at this moment. Joly warned for Grantaire to be quiet, wanting nothing more, like everyone else in- and outside Corinthe, for him to shut his mouth.

Enjolras, who had listened to Grantaire’s blabber with his back turned towards him, finally looked up to him with nothing but fury in his eyes. If he had known that Grantaire had been there, inside Corinthe, he would’ve probably chosen another place to build their barricade. But Bossuet had picked up the perfect place to initiate the revolution and there was nothing he could say to make all his men to change their mind about it.

“Grantaire, go and sleep your intoxication off somewhere else!” He shouted at the man, who had now freed poor Matelote from his embrace. “This is a place of enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Do not disgrace the barricade!” Enjolras was furious. He couldn't stand the way Grantaire insulted his ambition of better tomorrow, especially right at the dawn of revolution. He had worked so hard to get here. He needed to believe that they were going to succeed, but Grantaire’s words made Enjolras doubt; both himself and the revolution, which he didn't need.

But Grantaire didn't even budge. He only sat there and stared down at him. His gaze was calm and soft, like he was trying to tell Enjolras something. “Let me sleep here.” Grantaire said then, with a voice which reflected his warm gaze. Enjolras felt something move inside him.

“No! Go sleep somewhere else!” Enjolras ordered, feeling his anger and desperation rise. He hadn't prepared himself for this. He had hoped he could've concentrated solemnly at the upcoming revolution. Why was it, that Grantaire always made the anger build up in his guts?

But the odd stare didn't change and Grantaire looked at him without even blinking. “Let me sleep here until I die.” He pleaded, like he needed Enjolras' permission to do so.

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, thinking, willing, living or dying!” Enjolras snapped, not seeing the seriousness in Grantaire’s words. He wanted to climb up to the second floor of the restaurant and drag the drunk out of there, with his own two hands if necessary, though he knew that even in his level of intoxication, Grantaire would most likely drag himself back there, if he didn't leave by his own free will.

This time, something flashed over Grantaire’s face, something Enjolras couldn't read and he said with a steady voice: “You’ll see.” If one hadn't seen how drunk Grantaire had been just a minute ago, at that moment, he would've thought he hadn't drank even a drop the entire day. Grantaire would've died as a happy man, if he only could pass out at this very moment, to never wake up again and for Enjolras, to be the last thing he saw: standing there proudly on top of the barricade.

Enjolras saw then how Grantaire’s eyes started to wander and his head lulled against the table, falling asleep. A sense of relief washed over him and Enjolras turned towards his task once more, to build up the barricade. Only Joly was able to hear Grantaire’s last words: mumbling something about despite and goodbyes before passing out.

Till Enjolras was completely happy with the way their largest of barricades had been build, he climbed down from top of it and headed inside the restaurant. He went upstairs and was met with a sight of Joly taking a swig from his bottle, sitting across from Grantaire, who was still sound asleep.

“Help me move him.” He said to Joly, as he walked to the table.

Joly looked up at him, a little surprised to see him up here and not down there to give people orders. “Why?” He then managed to ask and stood up with a great difficulty, stretching himself after he managed to get to his feet.

“We need the table for the barricade.” Enjolras answered without hesitation. That was a lie, since the barricades were just fine without one table and a couple of chairs.

“Right.” Joly nodded and rounded the table to help Enjolras out.

“Behind the bar.” Enjolras said and wrapped his arms under Grantaire's armpits, around his torso and lifted him up from the chair. Joly took hold of Grantaire’s ankles. Grantaire mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, as they carried him with a great difficulty to the other side of the room. He was much heavier than he looked, but they managed to carry him there without dropping him and with only Joly stumbling to his own feet.

“ _Merci_.” Enjolras expressed his gratitude, as they laid Grantaire down to the floor to his side so he wouldn't choke, if he should throw up. Enjolras then eyed Joly as he took a glass of water and leaned against the bar, looking like he wasn't about to move anywhere soon. “Why don’t you go and help the others? For example: throw the furniture down from the window.” He suggested and tilted his head towards the table and chairs they had just freed.

Joly nodded and quickly finished his glass to sober himself up before doing what he was told. Enjolras didn't stop to think, why the fact that Joly drank so much at the moment, didn't annoy him as much as Grantaire’s drinking.

Once Joly had gone, Enjolras looked down at the sleeping man and ran a hand through his hair. He then looked behind the bar towards Joly, who was just about to throw the table out, yelling down for the people to watch out. Satisfied that he wasn't to be disturbed, he reached down to move a lock of hair from Grantaire’s forehead and then caressed side of his face lightly. Enjolras hoped that the man had the decency to stay out until the fight was over. He was certain that they were to succeed, but Enjolras was no fool: he knew there were about to be casualties. But the certainty that Grantaire was safe and sound, was something Enjolras needed to know, until he got up and headed towards whatever faith the future had planned for him.

 

 

Enjolras oversaw the building of the barricades, making sure everyone were doing their part. Most of the times, he gave orders to place some furniture in different positions, to make the wall more durable. When the red banner of revolution had been placed on top of the largest barricade in front of Corinthe, Enjolras made his way to the alleyway of Mondétour, which they intended to build a little lower, so someone could go to scout the area when necessary. He ordered the men there to go and help with the largest barricade and was left alone to check the alley by himself. He had been right by leaving the four men building it without his help. Since they were the assistants of sculpture sheds, they knew how to make a structure like this durable. He was glad the men had joined them after their little fight at Richefeu's.

“Where is our mutual friend?”

Enjolras hadn't expected to hear a woman’s voice behind him. He turned around and was surprised to see a young boy standing at the end of the alleyway. His cap had been pulled so deep into his head, that it almost covered his eyes and wisps of hair stick out underneath it. He looked somehow familiar, but Enjolras couldn't place where he had seen him before.

“Mutual friend?” Enjolras asked, trying fiercely to remember where he had met the boy. Maybe he had seen him only once, when this friend he had asked about, had introduced them. Enjolras wasn't very good at remembering people, who didn't make an impression whatsoever. This boy seemed to be like that. He was short and wore grey trousers with brown overcoat, which was too large for him, probably his father’s old.

“ _Oui_ , the Grand R.” The boy answered and walked a little bit closer, so Enjolras could see him better.

It took Enjolras a moment to even understand who he was talking about and even longer to remember who the boy, or actually a girl, was. But when he finally remembered, his facial expression didn’t change even the slightest. “Ah, you are that girl: Éponine. What are you doing here? Wearing a man’s clothes, as if you are one of us, ready for a fight?”

Éponine only smiled a little, a sad smile, in which Enjolras paid no attention. “I want to fight, just like all the men here. The difference is that I am a girl, but I have learned how to handle a gun and can be as valuable as many others here.” She then replied and waited a moment for Enjolras to answer to her original question, but when he didn't seem to do so, she was forced to remind him: “You did not reply to my question.”

Enjolras gaze shifted past Éponine, only for a second, but she did notice it, before he answered: “Grantaire is safe.”

“Then you must be a better person than I am.” Éponine said, eyeing Enjolras with respect.

Enjolras frowned at her, having no idea what she was talking about, but didn't wish to question her statement.

“I would rather let the man I love die here with me, than go on living without me. Even the mere thought is unbearable for me.” She explained herself, but it still didn't make any sense to Enjolras. Éponine fell silent for a moment. Then she cast an odd look towards him, as if she was considering something. “Or maybe, you do not love him as much… or you love him even more.”

Enjolras started to feel frustrated by this girl’s odd statements and this time he opened his mouth to ask what she was babbling on about, but she gave him no chance, as she continued:

“But have you ever considered, how it makes him feel to be forced to live a life without his love?” Éponine asked then with raised voice, almost angrily. “That, is the worst thing to live with.”

With those words, Éponine turned around and climbed over the barricade. Enjolras watched her go with a deep frown between his eyebrows. His head was full of questions. He wanted to ask her about what she had just said and why she was leaving the barricade after she told him that she wanted to fight. He couldn't decide what to ask first and when he finally opened his mouth, she had already disappeared to the other side.

Enjolras stayed there, deep in thoughts, for a moment longer, before he realized he had much more important things to worry about and he hurried back to Corinthe. He spotted Gavroche, unusually quiet, standing near the entrance of the restaurant, watching something deep in thoughts, much like Enjolras a little earlier. Enjolras didn’t mind interrupting him, as he walked straight to the boy and ordered him to go and scout the area nearby, so they could find out where the national guards and policemen were going.

Gavroche wasn't pleased to receive orders from him, but agreed anyway. “I’ll go, but while I am gone, you should trust more the little ones and suspect the grown-ups. Do you see that large man over there?”

Enjolras followed Gavroche’s gaze to a broad-shouldered man, sitting beside a table in the middle of the room, looking like he wasn't about to lend his hand to help the others.

“Who is he?” Enjolras asked, looking back at Gavroche.

“He’s a police’s snoop.” Gavroche said firmly.

“Are you sure about that?” Enjolras looked back at the man, observing his behavior more carefully.

“I am.” Gavroche assured him. “It’s not even two weeks, since he took me by my ear and dragged me down from the railing of Pont Royal’s bridge, where I was only taking a breath of fresh air.” The little boy sounded a little offended.

Enjolras noticed one of the men, who had been working with the smaller barricade earlier and approached him, asking him to get his friends for assistance. After he explained the situation, the man nodded and soon retrieved his three friends from outside Corinthe. They surrounded the spy Gavroche had recognized and Enjolras followed them.

“Who are you?” Enjolras asked from him. The man startled and looked into his eyes, seeming to understand immediately what was happening.

“I see how it is…” He said and smiled contemptuously. “Very well.”

“So, you are a police’s spy then?” Enjolras questioned. He hadn't expected it to be so easy to get the truth out of him.

“I am a public officer.” The man said firmly, sounding almost offended by Enjolras’ words.

“What is your name?”

“Javert.” The police officer answered and Enjolras nodded, giving the men a sign to seize him. They tied Javert’s hands behind his back and then bound him to one of the Corinthe’s supporting pillars.

“This time, I believe the mouse has caught the cat.” Gavroche mocked the man, sounding awfully pleased with himself.

“Police’s spy... You will be shot ten minutes before the barricade is conquered.” Enjolras told him, but Javert didn’t seem to be afraid.

“Why not now?” He only asked, sounding almost bored.

“Because we’re saving gunpowder.” Enjolras explained.

“Then stab me to death.” Javert demanded, clearly not wanting to languish by the pillar for hours to come.

“We are judges, not murderers, Spy.” Enjolras said, proudly. Then he ordered Gavroche to fulfill the task he had given him earlier. This time Gavroche obeyed dutifully, but not before demanding Javert’s rifle to himself. Enjolras agreed if not a little hesitantly, but Gavroche had done a great thing for the revolution by unveiling the spy.

 

 

It was getting dark, when a gunshot rang through the barricade. Enjolras had been inside, discussing with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, while he heard the shot. He took his pistol out of its holster and hurried outside to see one of the revolutionist holding a smoking gun in his hands and was looking up at something. Enjolras followed his gaze to see an old man, a gatekeeper from the house next door, hanging outside his window with a bullet hole in his head.

Enjolras stormed to the man who had killed him and took a hold of his shoulder. The man turned pale as he recognized him and started to shake.

“On your knees!” Enjolras shouted at him, furious with the man’s actions. The man did as he was told. Enjolras thought he recognized him to be the police officer he had reasoned with seventeen years ago over Grantaire's release. The man had gotten much older: wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and dark hair had turned grey, but Enjolras still remembered him. He felt even more furious than before, as he reminisced the man throwing a twelve-year-old boy inside a gloomy prison cell and threatening a child with forced labor.

All the others inside the barricade started to gather around them, expect for Grantaire, who was still sound asleep inside. No one said a word as Enjolras took out his watch.

“Collect yourself.” He said to the man. “Pray or think! You have one minute.”

“Mercy!” The man pleaded with trembling voice.

Enjolras waited the minute he had promised, until taking hold of the man’s hair and placing the tip of his pistol against his temple. Many revolutionists closed their eyes or looked away, as Enjolras pulled the trigger. The man fell dead against the street.

“Throw that outside!” Enjolras said angrily and kicked the body in contemn.

The three men, who had helped capturing Javert, did as he ordered and threw the lifeless body over the barricade. A silence fell over the barricade as Enjolras fell to his thoughts.

“Citizens,” He said then. “what that man did is frightful, what I have done is horrible. He killed, therefore I killed him. I had to do it, because insurrection must have its discipline. Assassination is even more of a crime here than elsewhere; we are under the eyes of the Revolution, we are the priests of the Republic, we are the victims of duty, and must not be possible to slander our combat. I have, therefore, tried that man, and condemned him to death. As for myself, constrained as I am to do what I have done, and yet abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself.”

“We will share thy fate!” Combeferre shouted.

“So be it,” Enjolras appreciated Combeferre’s support. “One word more. In executing this man, I have obeyed necessity; but necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity’s name is Fatality. It is a bad moment to pronounce the word love. No matter, I do pronounce it and I glorify it. Love, the future is yours. Death, I make use of thee, but I hate thee. Citizens, in the future there will be neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance, nor bloody retaliation. In the future, no one will kill anyone else, the earth will beam with radiance, the human race will love. The day will come, citizens, when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy and life. It will come, and it is in order that it may come that we are about to die.”

That was Enjolras' vision of the life after the revolution. If Grantaire had been there while he had spoken those words, he would’ve raised his voice and told him in his cynical way, how impossible that was. But Grantaire was still asleep and as Enjolras finished his speech, he waited to see the dark hair stand out from the crowd and confront him, but there was only silence as all those, who followed Enjolras blindly, only admired his words. Enjolras felt oddly empty during that moment.

Éponine had returned. She had heard the end of Enjolras speech, smiling sadly from behind the crowd where Enjolras could not see her, but she hadn't seen the execution. If she had, she might have reconsidered her desire to drag Marius into the barricades.

Enjolras wished his words would come true. That the world would turn to a better place, there would be no separation between rich and poor, where anyone could live how they liked and love whoever they loved. Without any more words, Enjolras retreated inside Corinthe. He climbed up the stairs and leaned over the bar to check that the man he had left there was still in place. Grantaire had rolled to his stomach, like he often used to sleep and snored silently. Enjolras left him there, not wishing to disturb his sleep. He knew it was the right thing to let Grantaire live. There was still a change for him to turn his life around and make something of himself. Especially in the new world that was about to come, which Enjolras himself was not allowed to see. He had contempt himself to death the moment he had pulled the trigger to kill that police officer. He knew he couldn't live with the image of the two men, who had been the first victims of the revolution, dead whenever he closed his eyes.

As Enjolras turned around to return downstairs, Grantaire stirred in his sleep and turned to his side, mumbling something incoherent, which Enjolras couldn't hear.

 

 

Enjolras returned to the barricade. The silence still filled the air. It seemed, no one was willing to break it and rather listened to the gloomy silence. But it served Enjolras well, since now he had the change to listen more properly, if the national guards were moving nearby.

Instead of footsteps or sounds of weapons loading, they all heard singing echoing from the other end of the Chanvrerie street. It was Gavroche, singing a song Grantaire and Jehan had once taught him. It didn’t take long for the blonde hair to appear over the barricade and the little boy smiled widely down to the gloomy men.

“My gun! They are here!” Gavroche rejoiced. Enjolras wondered if the boy only thought this as a new exciting game.

Everyone armed themselves and got to their positions. Gavroche climbed down skilfully and settled beside Enjolras.

“Would you like my carbine?” He asked from the boy, who shook his head.

“I’ll take the big one.” Gavroche answered and took Javert’s gun firmly into his hands. Enjolras wished he knew how to use one, but then remembered how Combeferre and Feuilly had taught Gavroche to fire.

The silence filled the barricade once again, as they all listened carefully for any sounds coming from the outside. Feuilly and six other revolutionists had climbed up to the second floor of Corinthe, to get a better view of the street. Enjolras, like many others, had stayed near the embrasures. It didn't take long for them to hear marching of the troops, coming closer and then stopping to the end of Chanvrerie street.

“Who goes there?” A voice echoed from towards the troops. They couldn't see how the national guards readied their guns, but they could hear it.

“The French revolution!” Enjolras didn't hesitate to reply.

The order to fire made them all tense and a flash of light was followed by a loud chatter that hit the barricade. Some of the bullets found their way inside and many were wounded. Enjolras saw the red banner fall to the ground at his feet, as its pole was cut to half.

“Friends!” Shouted Combeferre, to get their attention. “Let’s not waste the gunpowder but wait until they get closer.”

Combeferre’s wise words made most of the men calm their minds and the shock of the fierceness the first hail of bullets had caused, faded a little. Enjolras looked at the fallen banner. It was the symbol of the revolution and it needed to be put up again, to remind the troops outside the barricade, that they were not to be fallen.

“And above all, let us raise the flag again.” Enjolras said and picket it up. “Who is here with a bold heart? Who will plant the flag on the barricade again?” The troops were loading their guns again. 

Enjolras knew how dangerous it would be to rise on top of the barricade. He would’ve done it himself, but he was the leader and leaders were not meant to die at the beginning of the fight. It would only doom the revolution to its death before it had even started.

“Does not one volunteer?” Enjolras asked after no one answered to his call for a hero. Then, an old man, who Enjolras didn't know, walked through the crow, took the banner from him without a word and started to rise the barricade.

Enjolras was so stunned that he could only stand there and watch. Someone shouted something glorifying about the old man and those, who were wearing a hat, took them off for recognition. Enjolras' eyes never left the man as he climbed up, step by step and on the top, he shook the flag and shouted: “Long live the revolution! Long live the republic! Brotherhood, equality and death!”

There were shouts coming from the other side of the barricade, asking who the old man was.

“Long live the republic!” The old man shouted for an answer. Then shots were heard and Enjolras watched as the old man succumbed to his knees, dropped the flag and then fell backwards to the ground, right at his feet. The man had died instantly and he was staring towards the sky with hollow eyes. Enjolras felt enormous respect towards this brave old man.

“What men these regicides were!” Enjolras said in aghast.

Courfeyrac had come to stand next to him and now leaned to whisper into his ear: “This is for you alone, I do not wish to dampen the enthusiasm. But this man was anything rather than a regicide. I knew him. His name was Father Mabeuf. I do not know what was the matter with him today. But he was a brave blockhead. Just look at his head.”

“Citizens! This is the example which the old gives to the young. We hesitated, he came! We were drawing back, he advanced! This is what those who are trembling with age teach to those who tremble with fear! This aged man is august in the eyes of his country. He has had a long life and a magnificent death! Now, let us place the body under cover, that each one of us may defend this old man dead as he would his father living, and may his presence in our midst render the barricade impregnable!” Enjolras declared proudly and then he crouched next to the old man’s body, lifted his head and kissed his forehead in respect.

They made a new flag from Father Mabeuf’s jacket, which had been pierced with multiple bullets and the holes they had made were wet with blood. Father Mabeuf’s body was carried inside Corinthe and placed to a table. Jehan found widow Hucheloup’s black duvet, which they used to cover the old man’s body.

“It will be your turn shortly!” Enjolras said to Javert, who had been watching Father Mabeuf’s honorable treatment, still tied tightly against the pole. Javert didn't say a word.

“Watch out!” Gavroche’s high-pitched voice carried its way from outside.

They all ran to see what was going on. Enjolras was horrified to see, that three national guards were already on top of the barricade. Bahorel was the first one to face them; he shot one of them from close distance, but at the same time other guardsman stabbed him with a bayonet.

“Help!” Enjolras turned his gaze away from Bahorel to see Courfeyrac being pushed down to the ground and close to him, Gavroche was threatened by another guardsman. It all happened so fast, that there was no time to react.

Two shots rang in the air and then both men, who had been threatening Courfeyrac and Gavroche, fell dead to the ground. Marius joined them from the alleyway, where he had been overseeing the situation. Enjolras was thankful to him for saving two of his friends' lives, but there wasn’t time to exchange words of gratitude, when more national guardsmen were almost on top of the barricade.

“Wait! Don’t fire blindly!” Enjolras ordered when he stood in one row with Courfeyrac, Jehan and Combeferre. They waited until the very last moment to fire their guns at Enjolras’ command, so that each bullet found a victim for themselves. For a moment, they couldn't see a thing. The whole barricade was filled with smoke.

“Stand back or I’ll blast the barricade!” Marius’ voice came somewhere through the smoke. When it started to clear, they saw him holding gunpowder and a torch in his hands, glaring deadly at the guardsmen.

They all: Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Combeferre, held their breaths to see what was about to happen. There was something different in the way Marius acted and looked, like he had nothing to lose. Not even his life meant nothing to him. It frightened most of them.

“You would blast the barricade and yourself?” One of the national guards asked, staring at Marius as if he had lost his mind.

“And myself!” Marius confirmed his thoughts, sliding the torch nearer the powder. But he didn't have to destroy them all, since the guardsmen fled hurriedly and retreated back to the other end of Chanvrerie Street.

Enjolras ran beside Marius and slowly, as if he was still in danger to lower the torch and kill them all, he took it from his hold and passed it on to the closest man and it was taken as far away from the gunpowder as possible.

Courfeyrac rushed to hug Marius. Combeferre, Bossuet and Gavroche went to thank him as well for saving their lives, even though the action nearly cost them their lives.

“Where is the chief?” Marius asked, meaning Enjolras. He hadn't even realized that it had been Enjolras, who had taken the torch away from him.

“You are him!” Enjolras replied, promoting Marius to stand beside him at the barricade. He had saved their lives and the whole revolution with it. Enjolras couldn't thank him enough. He knew not many men had the courage for such a bold action.

 

 

Bahorel was wounded severely. They brought mattresses from the inside, which belonged to Madame Hucheloup and her waitresses, and laid the wounded over them. The Madame and her waitresses had disappeared once the barricade had started to rise. Soon, they realized one of them was missing: Jehan. They searched the bodies, to see if he had fallen in the turmoil of the fight. But they could not find him anywhere. It was clear that Jehan had been taken hostage.

“They have our friend, we have their agent.” Combeferre said to Enjolras. “Do you still see it important for the policeman to die?”

“ _Oui_ , but less than Jean Prouvaire’s life.” Enjolras answered. He didn't hesitate to save his friend in exchange of Javert’s life.

“Well, I am going to fasten my handkerchief to my cane, and go as a flag of truce, to offer to exchange our man for theirs.” Combeferre said hurriedly and was about to leave for his task, when Enjolras stopped him.

Enjolras was sure he had heard something from the other side of the barricade and as they listened silently, they now heard Jehan’s voice clearly: “ _Vive la_ France! Long live the future!”

Jehan’s declaration was followed by a loud bang and then it was silent again. Jehan was dead.

“They have killed him!” Combeferre cried out.

Enjolras' eyes shot at Javert. “Your friends have just killed you!”

Combeferre was certain, Enjolras would draw out his pistol and shoot Javert then and there, but instead Enjolras turned around and stormed out of Corinthe. Javert looked disappointed to see Enjolras leave, clearly wanting a quick way out of his misery. Combeferre was glad Enjolras had seen that too and they decided to wait until the very last moment to kill the spy.

As Enjolras got out, he saw Marius crouched over a body. He took one step forward to see Éponine in his arms. At the chaos of the fight, she had taken a bullet meant for Marius. She looked pale and her chest and arm was covered with blood. There was nothing they could do for her, Enjolras thought and remained at the back, not wanting to disturb them, but he still heard their conversation:

“Don't you fret, _M'sieur_ Marius.” Éponine said with trembling voice. “I don't feel any pain; a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now. You're here, that's all I need to know and you will keep me safe. And you will keep me close.”

“But you will live, Éponine. Dear God above, if I could heal your wounds with words of love.” Marius said back to her, keeping her close.

“Just hold me now, and let it be. Shelter me, comfort me.” Éponine said, her voice fading away with every word she said.

They exchanged a few more words until life left Éponine’s body. At that moment, Enjolras realized she had been talking about Marius back at the alley. Marius had not come to the barricade with his own free will, but Éponine had lured him there. Enjolras could’ve felt anger towards Marius, for coming here without even believing to a better tomorrow, but he was not. Marius had saved their lives. Enjolras only hoped that he believed, at least some part, of what they were about to achieve with the revolution. Éponine had sacrificed her own life to save Marius’. Enjolras didn't understand what good it had done for her to die that way. Sacrificing your own life for one other, didn't change anything in this world. Enjolras had never met anyone who would… He had to pause his thinking, when he realized there was one person, who he believed would do such a foolish thing for him. He was glad Grantaire was still asleep, when they had lost so many in just one hour: Father Mabeuf, Jehan and now Éponine. Enjolras had known, right from the beginning, that many of them would die. That he would have to watch his friends die, but nothing had prepared him for what it actually felt like. More than ever before, Enjolras hoped they could make a difference. What was the point of it otherwise?

Enjolras nodded his head at Feuilly and together they carried Éponine’s body to the Mendétour street with the other fallen. They passed Gavroche, who stared at her body with eyes full of tears, silently saying goodbye to his sister, who he hadn’t even known had been there.

 

 

During the darkness of the night, the insurgents had strengthened the barricade and build it even higher than before. Enjolras watched over them carefully. He had wished Marius could’ve helped him oversee the constructions, but the boy didn't seem to see or hear anything, he only helped to carry the furniture with empty stare. Enjolras let him be. There was clearly a personal reason for Marius to join the barricade so late and without a cause.

Bahorel had been laid near the entrance of Corinthe. His friends watched over him, taking turns so Bahorel didn't have to be alone even for a second. He was delirious and often groaned in pain. Joly had carefully tied his wound and even though they knew he was not going to make through the night, he had given Bahorel some of their waning pain medication, to keep the last hours of his life intolerable. Feuilly, instead of resting, painted intently into the front wall of Corinthe: _Vive la_ nation. He kept an eye on Bahorel at the same time. Not wishing to leave very far.

Combeferre was now sitting next to Bahorel, telling him about what was going on inside the barricade and how wonderful it would be after the citizens of Paris were to defeat the army. Enjolras approached them silently.

“Combeferre, rest. I shall stay with him.” He urged his friend, seeing how exhausted he was. Enjolras never gave orders to Combeferre. He was the second in command and made his own decisions, although, he always did what Enjolras suggested. But not this time.

“He will not regain consciousness ever again.” Combeferre said sadly and looked down at Bahorel’s pale face. “Only half an hour ago, he looked at me and smiled, but Joly said he will not last for long.”

Enjolras nodded solemnly and sat beside Combeferre. Together they sat in silence and watched over their friend. Enjolras wondered if he should’ve woken up Grantaire, so he could say goodbye to Bahorel, but just as he was about to stand up, Bahorel took a rasping breath, startling both Combeferre and Enjolras. They fixated they attention on his face and then noticed that he had stopped breathing. Enjolras saw, from the corner of his eye, that Combeferre was looking at him, but Enjolras couldn’t look away from Bahorel. He leaned over his friend and gave his forehead a kiss.

“You fought bravely. Rest well, my _camarade_.” He whispered and finally nodded at Combeferre.

They stood up and carried Bahorel’s lifeless body to the Mendétour street.

“I shall go to rest now.” Combeferre said. Enjolras noticed that he looked completely worn out. Even his voice sounded defeated.

Enjolras watched him go and took one last look of Bahorel before following his friend. But before he was able to get out of the alleyway, his eyes were caught by four national guards’ bodies. He crouched next to them and examined their uniforms. He stayed like that for a while, deep in his thought, before he set to task and undressed them. After he had obtained the four uniforms, he returned inside Corinthe and hid the pieced of clothing under the table, where father Mabeuf’s body still laid.

When he saw the old man’s body, he remembered his heroic deed and that the flag had still not been raised again. He walked outside and took Mabeuf’s blood red jacket, which he had carefully folded on one of the chairs holding the barricade together. Enjolras climbed up and tied it to one of the horse wagon’s drive shafts, where it swayed glamorously.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre called out his name from the entrance of Corinthe, where he was standing together with Bossuet.

Enjolras climbed back down from the barricade and followed them to the tiny basement.

“I found these, as I searched for food. What should we do with them?” Bossuet walked to a rickety wooden shelf, where a full box of wine laid.

They examined them carefully. There were fifteen bottles, not enough for all the men at the barricade and it would be unjust, if only few of them got the privilege to drink them.

“It’s the old stash of old man Hucheloup, who began business as grocer.” Combeferre reckoned and Enjolras agreed with him.

“It must be real wine.” Bossuet said after making sure every bottle was hermetically sealed. “It’s lucky that Grantaire is asleep. If he were on foot, there would be a good deal of difficulty in saving those bottles.” He then laughed together with Combeferre.

“Let’s reserve these upstairs.” Enjolras said, getting an disappointed sighs from his friends. “If we leave them here, someone else might find them. I know a place where no one would look them from.”

Bossuet took the box into his arms and carried it upstairs after Enjolras. They hid it under the table next to the uniforms. If Bossuet or Combeferre saw the pieces of clothing, they didn't utter a word about it. Enjolras was glad. He had other plans to both; the uniforms and the bottles of wine. The uniforms were his plan B and the bottles of wine were the last option. He hoped it would not come down to it.


	19. Do not ask me to turn from you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is slowly coming to its end. I'm going to miss writing this story. And sorry for the heartbreak, but you must've known it was coming.

_June  
1832_

Grantaire woke up to a ghastly feeling. He elevated himself to a sitting position, but he soon had to lower his face as his vision blurred and his head started to ache. It was almost dark as Grantaire finally managed to hoist himself up, taking support from the bar. He had no recollection of how he had ended up sleeping behind it.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac’s cheerful voice made him flinch. “You are finally awake.”

Grantaire looked around in the dusky room, trying to focus his gaze at something. Eventually his eyes stopped at Courfeyrac’s face, standing opposite of him at the other side of the bar. Besides Courfeyrac, there was only Combeferre in the room. As Grantaire took notice of that, his mind seemed to clear.

“Where is Enjolras?” Was the first thing Grantaire asked with a shaking voice.

“Down at the barricade, I should quess.” Courfeyrac answered right away, a little sad, that he was the first thing Grantaire asked for.

Grantaire closed his eyes and his mouth moved, like he had said something, but not a sound came out. Then he bent over, clasping his stomach in pain. “I need some fresh air.” He managed to mumble and staggered slowly across the floor to the stairs, with Courfeyrac’s cautious gaze on his back, making sure he didn't stumble down to the ground-floor.

Grantaire didn't see who he passed, while he crossed the first floor to get outside. He advanced by taking support from the walls. When he was finally outside and he couldn't support himself to the outer wall of Corinthe, Grantaire stumbled forward to the Mondétour's alley, he thought would be empty and vomited to the ground. He felt instantly better and leaned his back against the cold brick wall. The alley was pitch dark, but his vision soon adjusted to it and he clearly saw six, still figures lying on the ground. His stomach turned painfully once more and he forced himself not to let its contest out. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only then smelling the blood which lingered in the air.

Hesitantly, Grantaire walked over to the bodies. The first one, he didn't recognize. The second was foreign to him as well, but the third one was his oldest friend: Bahorel. Grantaire stood there for the longest of moments, staring at the dead pale face of his friend. Bahorel had a bandage, clearly Joly’s handiwork, around his chest and it was covered with blood. He had probably been shot or stabbed fatally.

“Safe trip, _mon ami_.” Grantaire said silently. He wished his death had been quick and that Bahorel hadn’t had to suffer or even realize what had happened.

Eventually, Grantaire forced his eyes away from Bahorel, needing to know if any other of his friends already laid there. He let out a relieved sigh, when the next body was once again someone he didn't recognize but the fifth one, even though she had clearly dressed as a boy and had tried to hide her femininity, Grantaire still remembered her face. It was the girl, who had followed him home months ago from the dances. He crouched next to her and carefully examined her still face. She was pale and tear stains had left marks on her face, but she was still smiling, like she had experienced something beautiful before she had passed away.

Grantaire heard footsteps nearing him from towards the barricade. He turned, to see Enjolras emerge to the alleyway. He was staring straight ahead of himself, not noticing Grantaire crouching there. He looked tired and there was a deep frown between his eyebrows, but he still seemed to reflect certitude and strange power around himself.

Grantaire forced his eyes away from his Apollo and looked back down at the girl again. “I did not even know her name.” He said silently.

Enjolras had almost passed Grantaire, when he heard his voice. Enjolras stopped to his tracks and turned towards him. Something, which looked slightly like terror, flashed over his face, but Grantaire couldn't see it.

“Éponine.” Enjolras said then, making Grantaire look up at him. “Her name was Éponine.”

“Éponine…” Grantaire muttered and nodded absently. “How did you know?”

“I asked her, when we first met.” Enjolras confessed. He had now walked closer to Grantaire and crouched next to him. “I thought you were still asleep.” He said then, close to Grantaire’s ear, making shivers run down his spine.

“I wish I still was.” Grantaire admitted and finally drew his eyes away from the girl’s pale face and glanced towards Bahorel, before he fixed his gaze on Enjolras.

Enjolras looked back at him for a few seconds until casting his eyes down, like he was unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Come.” He then said and stood up.

Without hesitation, Grantaire followed him back to the barricade and inside Corinthe. Enjolras led him to one of the few, still remaining, tables. It had been covered with a black canvas, but Grantaire could make out a shape of a man underneath it. He felt sick again.

“We found old Hucheloup’s stash of fifteen wine bottles.” Enjolras crouched next to the table and pulled a wooden crate from under it.

“Who is that?” Grantaire asked, not even looking down at the bottles.

Enjolras frowned, surprised and worried at the same time, that Grantaire hadn't paid even the slightest attention to the alcohol. “That is Father Mabeuf. He died bravely, while attempting to tie the flag back to its place.” He then explained, feeling nothing but deep honor towards the man.

Grantaire finally looked down to the crate and Enjolras saw the familiar craving fill his eyes. At any other day, Enjolras would have hated that look, he would've shaken his head in disappointment and look away, but at this day, he was grateful for Grantaire’s obsession.

“Are they…” Grantaire asked, swallowing when his throat suddenly felt very dry.

“Genuine? Most likely.” Enjolras took the crate into his lap and lifted it to the nearest, empty table. He took one bottle and offered it to Grantaire, who took it silently, aware of how their fingers brushed together as he did so. “What should we drink for?”

Grantaire was greatly surprised to see Enjolras take a bottle as well. He opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it again. He then walked pass Enjolras and took the crate into his hands. “We should share it.” He said, as he turned towards Enjolras again and carried it outside, fumbling only a little with it.

Enjolras watched Grantaire take the crate outside and lay it to the ground, in front of the barricade and start to pass the bottles around. Enjolras put the bottle he had been holding to the table and followed Grantaire outside. He climbed up to the barricade, to make sure they were still safe. He couldn't see any movement in the darkness. He stayed at the guard for a quarter or two.

“Courfeyrac, you take the watch. They may attack before it’s light.” Enjolras ordered as he was satisfied that, at least for the moment, they were not threatened. “Everybody, keep the fate. For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people too must rise.”

Grantaire felt his stomach tug uncomfortably. He looked at Courfeyrac, who took the musket in his hands and Grantaire had a horrible hunch that he wouldn't see his friend again. Courfeyrac looked back at him and nodded firmly, like he had never been so sure of anything else in his life. At that moment, Grantaire realized that Jehan was missing. He felt his heart seize in his chest as he looked the faces around him in panic, but he couldn't see him. Grantaire mulled over Enjolras’ words: keep the fate and we are not alone. He was reminded again, that they were all going to die in a few hours. Even Enjolras, who should live forever.

“Marius, rest.” Enjolras walked up to Marius and stopped him from repairing the barricade any longer. The boy looked like a ghost, desperately needing some sleep. It seemed to take a moment before Marius finally understood what Enjolras had just said to him and he lowered the chair he had been holding to the ground.

“ _Drink with me to days gone by._ ” Enjolras' eyes shot at Grantaire, who had started to sing, taking a swig from one of the bottles offered to him. “ _Sing with me the songs we knew._ ” Grantaire continued. The song was an old drinking song, which they had sang countless of times before, but only with a lighter tune.

“ _Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads._ ” Courfeyrac joined in, raising his bottle.

“ _Here's to witty girls who went to our beds._ ” Joly’s voice arose then, remembering his Musichetta.

“ _Here’s to them and here’s to you!_ ” Enjolras felt shivers go down his spine, as he heard all his friends sing in unison. Even though he had heard their voices unite many times before to this song, the melancholy sound of it now, made him marvel the sound.

“ _Drink with me to days gone by. Can it be you fear to die?_ ” Grantaire’s voice continued and everyone else went silent, listening his words carefully. The vocals had never been heard before. Grantaire expressed his inner thoughts. Enjolras walked slowly, like in a trance, to aside from others to the entrance of Corinthe, not even once, taking his eyes away from Grantaire. “ _Will the world remember you when you fall? Could it be your death means nothing at all? Is your life just one more lie?_ ”

Enjolras had always thought Grantaire’s voice, although it was raspy from the alcohol, was beautiful in its own way. He walked inside the restaurant and took the bottle he had discarded earlier, returning back to the entrance and leaned against the doorway. Even though, he believed wholeheartedly to their cause and the revolution, he still couldn't help, in his tired mind, to think over the words Grantaire had sang. Was he afraid? Yes, of course he was. He was afraid of his own death, since he wished to see the new world with his own eyes, but most of all, he was afraid to lose his friends, who meant everything to him. He had also contemplated, could France just forget about their sacrifice and their cause, if they should die. That they had meant nothing. The thought was unbearable to him.

“ _Drink with me to the days gone by. To the life that used to be._ ” They all sang again, when the song continued, as they all remembered it to continue and this time Enjolras joined in too: “ _At the shrine of friendship never say die._ ”

“ _Let the wine of friendship never run dry._ " Grantaire heard Enjolras’ voice and looked at his direction. Their eyes locked and for the first time, Enjolras felt something unspoken linger between them. " _Here’s to you and here’s to me._ ” Enjolras lifted the bottle and raised it to his lips. Grantaire reflected the movement.

The song died down, but the odd mood lingered inside the barricade long after that. No one heard Marius, who had departed inside, singing to himself of his love: Cosette. Enjolras took one last swig from his bottle before passing it out to Courfeyrac. He slipped silently to the dark alleyway again, setting out to continue his task, which he had ceased before for Grantaire. No one else, but one man, saw him leave past the smaller barricade at the end of the Mondétour alley.

 

 

Grantaire’s head felt blurry, he found himself staring at the wall of Corinthe, where someone had painted the words: _Vive la_ nation, most likely Feuilly. Grantaire blinked several times to get his thoughts back to reality. He became aware of a constant noise, like a tap had been leaking. It echoed somewhere from his right and he slowly turned his head towards the sound. It felt like he was in a dream. Pass Joly and Feuilly, he saw the wall of the building, which further down the street compound with the building where he’s apartment was. Even in the darkness, as the only torch had been put down, Grantaire saw something dark flow down along the wall. He looked up and swallowed, when he saw an old man’s head, lolling from outside the second-floor window. There was a hole in the back of his skull, where blood trickled down to the ground.

“Who is that?” Grantaire asked from Feuilly, who looked to the same direction and then shook his head.

“I do not know his name. He is the gatekeeper, I believe.” Feuilly answered and lowered his eyes back at Grantaire, noticing how utterly miserable his friend looked. “Oh, but that’s right!” He then suddenly exclaimed, causing Grantaire to jump and come out of his solemn thoughts. “You did not see what happened to him.”

Grantaire shook his head.

“A crook, who joined us on our way from Lamerques’ funeral, shot him because he refused to let him in and take a firing spot from the upper floors. Enjolras slayed him for that.” Feuilly pointed towards the other side of the barricade, where the crook's body had probably been abandoned. 

The information surprised Grantaire, but his astonishment didn't last for long. He understood why Enjolras had chosen to do that, to judgment one of his citizens, but the surprise was replaced by worry. Grantaire knew Enjolras’ thoughts better than he let himself to believe and he knew that Enjolras didn't wish to judgment anyone to death, if it was not necessary. Enjolras must've felt responsible of the old gatekeepers’ life and death and hated himself, for letting something like that happen right in front of his eyes.

“What happened to Jehan?” Grantaire asked then, not really wanting to know the answer, but since Jehan had been brave enough to face his death, Grantaire felt it was his duty and honor to hear how it had come to pass.

Feuilly swallowed and Grantaire saw tears fill his eyes. Then he opened his mouth and spoke with a broken voice: “After one of the attacks, they managed to take Jehan captive. We wanted to exchange him to that policeman.” Feuilly nodded towards Corinthe, where Grantaire faintly remembered seeing a tied up man. “But they shot him before we could. He died bravely, shouting praises towards the revolution.” Feuilly turned to look at him with a proud smile on his face.

Grantaire smiled back and nodded. Maybe it was for the best, that Jehan had gone first. He was the most gentle and vulnerable of them all. It would have destroyed him to see his friends get killed before his eyes. Grantaire thought Jehan had been brave, when he himself was the greatest coward of them all. Grantaire couldn't even face his own death, least of all his friends and wanted only to drink himself to a blissful oblivion.

Feuilly saw Grantaire fall back to his miserable thoughts and decided to cheer him up. “After he shot the man, Enjolras made a speech about the future.” He paused to make sure Grantaire was listening to him and once he saw the sharp movement of Grantaire's head, he continued: “You should have heard him! He talked about freedom and equality like always, but this time, he focused on love.”

Feuilly had been waiting for that look to emerge on Grantaire’s eyes, like something had waken up in his drunk mind. His friend quickly looked away and tried to look disinterested, but the way he had stopped drinking from his bottle and how his body had tensed, Feuilly knew quite well that he was listening carefully.

“He praised it. He talked about how, in the future, we are all free from war and capable to just love each other. That we can live in harmony and happiness. I got the feeling that love is something Enjolras truly fights for, even though it sometimes seems he cares only about chaos.” Feuilly finished and saw that Grantaire’s eyes had turned red, not from drinking, but from crying. A lonely tear fell from his eye and he quickly wiped it away. In the future, Feuilly thought, Grantaire wouldn't have to have the need to wipe his emotions away, but he could let them be shown and no one would judge him for that.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I should…” He mumbled and pointed towards Corinthe. Feuilly only nodded and followed Grantaire from the corner of his eye, to walk towards the entrance of the restaurant, but instead of going inside, he changed his direction and headed towards Mondétour. Feuilly decided to make sure no one else would go there after him.

 

 

Enjolras headed towards the barricade which was led by Jeanne, a fellow student from the university. The bells of Saint-Merry still rang, filling Enjolras with confidence, that many barricades beside theirs still stood tall. But his certainty descended, the further he proceeded. Besides the bells, he heard nothing. At first, he thought it was because of national guards’ recess, but there were no sounds, not even praises of revolution shouted infrequently. This made Enjolras nervous.

Once he reached the street, where Jeanne’s barricade stood, he saw only it’s wrecks. A cold chill went through his body. Without fear, Enjolras climbed through the broken furniture to the other side of the barricade and saw no one. Only few bodies laid here and there, but there were no living souls. Enjolras continued to the building which had been their headquarter. Its doors and windows were shut tightly and no one answered to his knocks and shouts. He only heard one window creak as it was shut, but had no time to see if there had actually been anyone.

“Citizens!” He shouted up to that window. “The time has come for Paris to rise and gain what its people needs and deserves! I know you are afraid and should be, since the national guards are broad and powerful. But if we all rise together, we can crush that mighty enemy without doubt!” Enjolras felt his voice starting to tremble and he had to quiet down. He took a couple steps back from the building, but kept his eyes fixed on the windows on top of it, but no one opened. No one had listened.

Enjolras headed back to his friends’ barricade, hurriedly, fearing that the national guards had attacked while he was away and his friends would be lost without their leader. But as he got closer and he heard no sounds of fighting, his steps started to waver. He saw the start of the Mondétour’s alleyway, which lead back to the barricade. He stumbled towards it and collapsed against the wall. His whole body convulsed by what he had learned. He slowly slid to the ground and felt like suffocating. He tried to fill his lungs with air, but his muscles refused to obey.

“Enjolras!” He heard a familiar voice shout out his name from towards the barricade and he looked up to see Grantaire climb, or more rather run, down the assorted furniture. He was beside Enjolras in a blink of an eye. Even though Grantaire must've been drunk, he was surprisingly agile when he wanted to be. Enjolras sometimes wondered if he only pretended to need his help after drinking too much, just as the first time they had kissed. 

“Are you hurt?” Grantaire questioned, as he checked Enjolras' body in case of an injury, with worried eyes.

Enjolras managed to shake his head fiercely and closed his eyes. He willed his lung to cooperate and finally managed to fill them with air. He felt Grantaire sit down next to him and place his hand at his neck just below his hairline, squeezing lightly. The touch grounded Enjolras back to the moment and he drew another breathe, which made his mind much clearer. Once, he was completely sure that his emotions wouldn't overwhelm him, he glanced towards Grantaire, looking worriedly back at him.

“You were right.” Enjolras said with surprisingly calm voice. “No one has risen. The Paris has not taken arms. We are the only ones left. Our death means nothing at all.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and Enjolras saw how much the knowledge pained him, even though he had never believed to the revolution himself. Still, Grantaire had hoped that some miracle would've saved them, would've saved Enjolras from this fate.

“I am sorry, Enjolras.” Grantaire said then, opening his eyes to look at him once again. They were wet with tears. “I am so sorry.” He repeated.

“There is still time, for them to leave.” Enjolras suddenly said with a low voice. And when he looked up at Grantaire, the familiar fire had returned to his eyes. “For you to leave.”

The hand left Enjolras’ neck, as Grantaire’s whole body seemed to jerk back. Enjolras saw the hurt in Grantaire’s eyes as he said that. Like he had wounded him the worst possible way. “You are asking me to leave?” Grantaire asked, the disbelief clear on his voice.

Enjolras turned towards Grantaire and took hold of his arm. “There is a way to get out, without the national guards to see. The four dead men were wearing uniforms. I took their jackets, just in case. Wearing one could enable escape out of here. You can reach the Marche des Innocents through the Rue des Prêcheurs.”

Grantaire just sat there and stared at Enjolras like he had lost his mind. Then he seemed to snap out of his trance: he pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head fiercely. “Do not ask me to turn from you now.” A stern look emerged on Enjolras’ face and Grantaire anticipated for what he was about to say and hurriedly cut him off: “I will not leave, even if you ordered me to!”

Those words, spoken with so much confidence and certainty, so unlike Grantaire, bewildered Enjolras. “Are you certain?” He asked, when he finally found his voice again.

“Without fail.” Grantaire answered and Enjolras smelled the alcohol on his breathe. He saw how the shock of his proposition starting to pass and the state of his drunkenness to show.

“How much have you drank?” Enjolras asked then, needing to know. But Grantaire misunderstood his intention and looked away in annoyance. “Answer to me.” Enjolras demanded then.

“I do not know.” Grantaire finally said, still looking at the opposite wall, like there was something highly interesting in there. “Maybe three of them.”

Satisfied with the answer, Enjolras lifted his hand and cupped Grantaire’s jaw, forcing him to turn his face towards him. He saw astonishment on Grantaire’s face, but didn't care for it and only pulled his face down so he could kiss his mouth. Grantaire let out a sight of awe, but soon collected his thought and opened his mouth to let Enjolras in. He had thought he would never again be able to taste Enjolras' lips or run his hands along the side of his face. This was like a beautiful dream for Grantaire and he no longer wished he hadn't woken up when he did.

Grantaire ran his tongue at the inside of Enjolras’ upper lip and pressed their faces even closer together, making Enjolras' head lean against the wall behind him. Grantaire crawled into Enjolras’ lap and straddled him. Neither one of them was afraid of someone to see them. The streets were still dim and no one walked so close to the barricades. But that was not the reason they weren't afraid, they just didn't care anymore. They both knew they were going to die once the sun would rise. It didn't matter if someone happened to see them. It didn't matter if that someone decided to take his musket and aim at them.

Enjolras devoured Grantaire’s mouth hungrily and clung to his vest desperately, as if Grantaire could pull himself away if he didn't keep him there. But Grantaire could never pull himself away from Enjolras, not even if he had wanted to. Enjolras would be the cause of his death and he had always known that. Instead, Grantaire lowered his hips against Enjolras’ and rubbed them together. Breathe caught on Enjolras’ throat and he stopped the kiss to savor the feeling. Grantaire ran his hands along Enjolras chest to his crotch and pulled down his trousers. With his arms, Enjolras lifted his body from the ground, just so Grantaire could tug the clothing from underneath him. They pressed their lips together again, more heatedly this time, their teeth clasping against each other. Grantaire reached back to take his own trousers down and was about to lower his body down again, when Enjolras hands took hold of his hips and stopped him. It was like someone had shaken him awake and Grantaire froze with touch. He looked at Enjolras with almost scared eyes, afraid that the man would push him away, but instead of disgust, Enjolras looked worried.

“You do not have to…” He trailed off, breathless and panting heavily.

“I do not care. I need to feel you.” Grantaire answered like it was the most simple thing in the world and without any more words he guided Enjolras inside him and pushed his hips down slowly.

Enjolras licked his lips unconsciously and his mouth opened to a silent moan. Grantaire watched him closely with dark eyes and didn't care about the pain the movement made him feel. Once his groin met Enjolras belly, Grantaire distracted himself by claiming Enjolras’ mouth. He ran his hand through the fair hair and tugged it once he started to move his hips again. The movements soon turned desperate and even Enjolras let himself drown to the moment and met Grantaire’s thrusts with his own, digging his fingertips hard against Grantaire’s hips. They hadn't noticed how the dusk had gradually slipped away to make room for the first sunbeams of the day.

Grantaire wished that this moment would never end. This was everything he had lived for so many years and he clung onto that, as long as he was able to. He watched as the sunrise reached Enjolras’ head, making his hair reflect its light and he thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as this. Only when his vision was blurred with pleasure, Grantaire buried his face against Enjolras' shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the man he admired so much and hang onto his shoulder and hair like he could fall through the earth and into the darkness, if he were to let go. The fabric of Enjolras’ jacket muffled his cry and he fell to a blissful ignorance. He barely felt Enjolras’ body tense underneath him and the fingers dig even deeper into his hips before relaxing again. They stayed like that for which seemed like forever and only seconds at the same time.

Enjolras breathed heavily and kept Grantaire close. He only then noticed that the sun had risen and looked solemnly towards its light, like it had betrayed him for beginning another day and not giving Paris and its citizens enough time to join their cause. Grantaire breathed in the scent of Enjolras’ jacket. He slowly started to doze off and the thought of how wrong he had been earlier to think, that he would die happy by just seeing Enjolras filled his mind. This was a thousand times preferable: being held by the most amazing of men and able to feel the rise and fall of his chest and hear his heartbeat against his ear. He wished he could go back in time; to lay his eyes on Enjolras for the first time, to once more jump into Seine after him, to fall asleep beside him on his soft bed and to press his lips against Enjolras' for the first time. Before Grantaire could fall asleep though, Enjolras shifted underneath him, making Grantaire protest with a miserable noise.

“Let’s get dressed.” Enjolras encouraged him and softly pushed Grantaire off from his arms, pulling his trousers back on at the same time.

Grantaire did as he was told and struggled to get back on his feet. He took support from the wall, but once he tried to stand on his own, he would've fell to his back, if Enjolras hadn't been there to catch him. He lifted Grantaire’s arm around his shoulder and supported his body with his free hand. Half carrying and half dragging Grantaire with him, Enjolras managed to get them both up to the barricade and to the other side. He escorted Grantaire inside Corinthe through the side door. Enjolras' legs and rest of the body shook underneath the weight of his friend and only by mere willpower, he managed to get Grantaire inside. He stopped in front of the table, where father Mabeuf’s body still laid and let Grantaire slip to the floor to a sitting position. The drunks head lolled from side to side and he clearly struggled to stay awake.

“Enjollllra…” Grantaire muttered and tried to reach for him as Enjolras straightened himself, but his hand fell down heavily.

“Sleep.” Suddenly Enjolras face was very close, as he whispered the word into his ear. Grantaire tried to focus on his Apollo’s face, but he didn't succeed. He felt himself being guided down to lay on the floor. Just when he was about to give in to the darkness, a light kiss was pressed against his temple and then Grantaire knew nothing.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire’s eyes fell shut and his chest started to rise and fall steadily. He had guided Grantaire to lay under the table and looked around, as if searching for something. His eyes halted on to the top of the table. A little hesitantly, Enjolras reached out to pull the black rug off from covering father Mabeuf’s body and spread it over Grantaire. Then he leaned down to kiss Grantaire’s temple softly and covered him completely under the rug, so no one could see that he was there. He hoped that Grantaire would be safe underneath it. He wouldn't need to die for something he didn't believe in.


	20. You will fly to the heavens, as I descend to hell

_1832  
June_

Enjolras joined the others after he had made sure Grantaire had succumbed to sleep. His heart was heavy and his mind dark. The rebels were singing and rejoicing, making it almost impossible for Enjolras to bring out the knowledge he had gained for them. His throat felt dry and he feared his voice would betray him, as he stepped up and began his speech:

"The whole army of Paris is to strike.” Enjolras’ voice didn't betray him, he managed to keep it calm and bright, even though his words brought doom to the barricade. “A third of the army is bearing down upon the barricades in which you now are. There is the National Guard in addition. In one hour, you will be attacked. As for the populace, it was seething yesterday, today it is not stirring. There is nothing to expect; nothing to hope for. Neither from a faubourg nor from a regiment. You are abandoned.”

The heavy silence which followed those words, felt like death had descended upon them. Enjolras looked between his still remaining friends: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly and Gavroche, feeling like he had betrayed them.

“Let us not waste lives. All who wish to: go from here.” Enjolras gave them the opportunity to choose. They still had a lot to live for: families, lovers and maybe even children. Enjolras had nothing. He didn't remember his mother, waiting for him to visit her like he had promised only few days ago. He knew he would fight to the last breath of his body and he feared his friends would do so as well. 

Then a voice sang: “ _Do you heart he people sing? Singing the song of angry men_?” It was little Gavroche, singing. Filling them up with the courage to fight. “ _It is the music of the people, who will not be slaves again!_ ”

“ _When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!_ ” All the others joined in with the song. Enjolras had hoped that they would've turned away and leaved the barricade, but as he listened his friends singing, he felt relieved, that they weren't going to turn from him.

“Citizens!” Enjolras cried out, catching their attention once more. “This republic is not rich enough in men to indulge in useless expenditure of them. Vainglory is waste. If the duty of some is to depart, that duty should be fulfilled like any other.” Even if his friends were not about to step from his side, there were still men, who did not hold any responsibility towards him. “Let those who are afraid of not numbering more than thirty say so.”

The men around him started to talk. One voice caught Enjolras’ attention: “It is easy enough to talk about leaving. The barricade is hemmed in.”

“Not on the side of the Halles,” said Enjolras. “The Rue Mondétour is free, and through the Rue des Prêcheurs one can reach the Marche des Innocents.” He had committed the escape road into his memory, in hope Grantaire would've used it, but now his change was lost and Enjolras was glad to be able to give it to someone else who needed it.

“And there,” went on another voice, “you would be captured. You would fall in with some grand guard of the line or the suburbs; they will spy a man passing in blouse and cap and they will look at your hands. You smell of powder. Shot.”

Enjolras, without making any reply, touched Combeferre’s shoulder and they entered Corinthe. They emerged a moment later: Enjolras held, in his outstretched hands, the four uniforms which he had laid aside. Combeferre followed, carrying the shoulder-belts.

“With this uniform, you can mingle with the ranks and escape; here is enough for four.” Enjolras flung the uniforms to the pavement.

There was a long conversation, as people inside the barricade tried to decide who had the most to lose if he stayed. Eventually, four men stepped up, all with families waiting anxiously for their return. Enjolras watched as the men put on the uniforms, thanked him and left the barricade through the Mondétour alley. He wondered if he should’ve forced Grantaire to wear one, to dress him after he had passed out and carry him outside the barricade. But something inside him told him it would’ve been the wrong thing to do. Grantaire had wished to stay, he had pleaded Enjolras for not to ask him turn away and Enjolras hadn’t asked, not for the second time.

Enjolras mind returned to the man, tied up inside Corinthe, condemned to death. He returned inside and looked down at the man, looking like he was either praying or just meditating.

“Do you want anything?” Enjolras asked, granting the man one last wish.

“When are you going to kill me?” Javert asked, not answering his question.

“Wait. We need all our cartridges just at present.” Enjolras replied.

“Then give me a drink,” said Javert.

Enjolras himself offered him a glass of water and helped him to drink.

“Is that all?” He asked and Javert shook his head solemnly.

“I am uncomfortable against this post.” Javert complained and looked pass Enjolras towards something. “Bind me as you please, but you surely might lay me out on a table like that other man.”

Enjolras looked towards the direction the spy was looking at and frowned. Javert referred to the table where Father Mabeuf laid on. Then his eyes were caught by now empty table, which they had used to make cartridges. Enjolras nodded at the men, who had helped to capture Javert earlier, as a sign to unchain the spy and tie him on top of the table instead. He was a man of his words and since he had asked for one last wish, he was willing to grant it.

 

 

As the morning went on, without anything happening, Enjolras made the decision to secure the smaller barricade at Mondétour street, so no one could get inside or out. He watched in regret, as few men fulfilled his command, knowing, that when the time came not a living soul could get out of the barricade, but this gave them at least a minute more to stand up against the national guards and the army. Now it was impossible for even Grantaire to get out. Gavroche had sneaked outside a quarter earlier and Enjolras hoped the boy would not be able to get back inside either.

He joined the larger barricade and together with Combeferre, they decided to pass out some brandy for everyone. The last pleasure for all of them. Enjolras climbed up to the watch and surveyed the end of the street. The sun was rising slowly and the darkness had started to step aside, making it easier to see what was happening.

An approaching rumbling, which echoed through the narrow streets made all men gather around the barricade and try to see what was going on. Enjolras felt chill run down his spine as he noticed a cannon being pushed to their sight. He had no idea how the barricade could last a precise hit from a cannonball.

“Fire!” Enjolras shouted as he saw the men light the igniter.

A horrible rattle and smoke filled the air and again made it impossible to see, if any of the bullets had found their targets. The smoke cleared soon and the cannoneers were still up and pushing the cannon closer.

“Reload your guns!” Enjolras ordered and heard the sound of men obeying him. They didn't have much time and every cannonball was too much for the barricade.

The cannon was now in position and it let out a huge bang, as the first cannon flew against the barricade. At the same time Gavroche jumped from over of the barricade to inside. Enjolras had hoped that the boy had fled and found himself a shelter from somewhere safe, but it seemed he had been wrong.

As the others surrounded Gavroche and inquired him about the situation outside, Enjolras turned his attention back to the barricade and the cannon. To his relief, the cannonball hadn't done any significant damage and it seemed the cannoneers had stepped back for the moment.

Then Enjolras saw the commander of the piece change the elevation and incline the mouth of the cannon slightly to the left and the cannoneers began to load. Enjolras realized, right away, what was happening.

“Down with your heads, hug the wall! And all on your knees along the barricade!” Enjolras shouted to the men, still gathered to the front of Corinthe. They scattered around as quickly as they could, but it was already too late. Once again the cannon was fired and this time, the grape-shot made its way in, killing two and wounding three men.

“Let us prevent the second discharge!” Enjolras gave order after the men recovered from the shock of the attack and some made it their mission to drag the wounded inside Corinthe.

Enjolras lowered his rifle and took aim at the captain of the gun; a young sergeant who had a gentle face. But his finger halted on the trigger and he looked down at his feet, as if suddenly regretting his decision.

“What a pity!” Combeferre, who had come to stand beside Enjolras, said. “What hideous things these butcheries are! Come, when there are no more kings, there will be no more war. Enjolras, you are taking aim at that sergeant, you are not looking at him. Fancy, he is a charming young man; he is intrepid; it is evident that he is thoughtful; those young artillery-men are very well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he is probably in love; he is not more than five and twenty at the most; he might be your brother.”

“He is.” Enjolras replied. All the men, they or the army, had slaughtered today were his brothers but the one he was aiming at now, was someone he knew. Enjolras recognized him to be one of the boys he had played with, when his father had still been alive. Yes, he was also one of them who had teased him and the one he had gotten into a fist fights with, but Enjolras couldn’t help but feeling like he was killing one of his friends.

“ _Oui_ , he is mine too. Well, let us not kill him.” Combeferre said, without knowing Enjolras' true meaning behind those words.

“Let me alone. It must be done.” Enjolras said and Combeferre took a step back, as if he had been intruding. Enjolras felt a tear run down his cheek as he pressed the trigger before his eyesight would blur. The bullet hit the sergeant to his head and he fell dead to the ground.

 

 

Enjolras’ repressed hope gained a glimpse of light, when the people of France begin to wake for the new day: many rose again to take arms and form new barricades to reinforce the four remaining ones. They could hear their shouts for revolution and fires being shot. Enjolras could see corpses, which hadn't come from their barricade, being carried at the end of Chanvrerie street. Unfortunately, that glimpse of light did not last long. Soon the shouts were smothered and the firing of the guns got weaker, until they could hear only the striking of the bell and the heavy feel of despair returned to hover over their heads again.

Enjolras was, once again, keeping the watch. His eyes were fixated to the other end of the street from through the firing hole. He pretended not to hear the conversation being held right beside him. Courfeyrac and Bossuet, who had earlier been raising the men’s spirits with their jokes, were now talking about him. Most words were flattering and honorable, but then the conversation turned to women and the fact that Enjolras had none.

“Enjolras has no woman. He is not in love and yet he manages to be intrepid. It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.” Bossuet finished the conversation.

Enjolras didn't feel the need to correct his words. He loved France, his mother country and its people, including his friends. France was the only woman he needed in his life. He didn't understand the others' obsession with women and didn't desire to understand it either. His thoughts didn't get further than this, when he spotted another cannon being wheeled next to the previous one. He felt his throat turn dry. This was the beginning of the end, he thought.

While they were all busy preparing themselves for the upcoming attack of the cannon, they didn't see little Gavroche, sneaking outside from one of the largest firing hole. It was Courfeyrac, who first heard Gavroche's voice singing, as he made his way from body to body, collecting more gunpowder for them. 

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac shouted in despair and was already climbing over the barricade, when Combeferre stopped him. 

Enjolras had also been notified of the situation by Courfeyrac's shout and he joined next to his friend, to stop him from following Gavroche. There was a slight change that the national guards would leave the little boy alone and let him return unharmed, but if Courfeyrac was to follow him, it would've certainly lead to his death. So, they watched with their hearts in their throats, as Gavroche proceeded, still singing joyfully. 

If Enjolras' determination towards the cause hadn’t been as high as it had always been, it would've risen even more, when he saw Gavroche’s small body fall to the ground. The little boy had been shot by a national guard’s man, in cold blood. Marius and Combeferre headed outside to fetch his body. It seemed their enemies were as stunned by the turn of events as they were, since no one fired even a single shot towards them. Gavroche was carried next to father Mabeuf, to honor his achievements and courage.

Gavroche had always reminded Enjolras of Grantaire, when he was still just a child. Like Gavroche, Grantaire had been full of life, singing and dancing until he was too tired to do so. Both Gavroche and Grantaire had a witty tongue and bravery that Enjolras had admired. But Grantaire had slowly lost his passion for life and had exchanged it for booze and sleeping. Enjolras had hoped, that would not happen to Gavroche, but now he would never know, since that little boy would never grow up.

“Where is the blanket?” Enjolras then heard Combeferre ask. Both of the two men looked around for it, thinking that it must have accidentally flown somewhere nearby.

Enjolras’ eyes shot below the table, where he could spot a part of the black rug, under which Grantaire still slept soundly. He was about to raise his voice and draw their attention away from the missing piece of fabric, when Combeferre’s shout interrupted him:

“Here it is!” The man had found another one, a little smaller perhaps, but otherwise similar to the initial one. Combeferre tug the rug from underneath the rubble which had been cleared from a cabinet once the barricade had been build and the massive furniture had been hauled to shield them from the bullets.

Enjolras watched in relief as both, of the two citizens bodies were covered once again and Grantaire had been left alone and none of them had disturbed his sleep, keeping him safe.

"You at the barricade listen to this!" An officer, who had stepped up to be the next sergeant, shouted from the other end of the street. Enjolras and the other rebels returned outside, to listen to what he had to say. "The people of Paris sleep in their beds! You have no chance, no chance at all! Why throw your lives away?"

Enjolras felt the tiny sting of guilt in his guts. He was the reason everyone inside the barricade were in the verge of their own deaths, but at the same time, he knew, their deaths would make a difference. His friends had never turned from his side, not even Grantaire and he knew they would go through this all over again if they had the change to relive it.

"Let us die facing our foes!" Enjolras turned to his men. His last speech would not be long, but he was determined to lift their spirits for the final fight over the new life. "Make them bleed while we can!"

"Make 'em pay through the nose!" Combeferre joined in.

"Make 'em pay for every man!" Courfeyrac continued, his voice stills shaking for seeing Gavroche being shot. His mind on all his fallen comrades.

"Let others rise, to take our place! Until the earth is free!" Enjolras finished and faced the enemy with lifted chin. 

The attack started, not long after that, and they fought with so much passion, that it took over ten attempts from the soldiers and guardsmen to finally get over the well build barricade. The cannon had ripped the ridge of it to pieces, making a perfectly good path for them to take over the rebels. Enjolras concentrated solemnly on fighting: when he hit one man, he was already thinking about shooting another. But he did notice, when he could no longer hear Bossuet’s merry voice and when Feuilly, who had been protecting the middle of the barricade, was flown back when the cannon’s ball hit near him. Chaos was inevitable. Everyone scattered around, trying fiercely to find a way to save their lives. They banged the doors and pleaded for the people inside to let them in. Enjolras didn't blame them, even though he had no such desire. But instead, he tried to aid their escape, stepping between the rebels and the guardsmen, fighting them off with his revolver in one hand and a cut down sword in another. But the people didn't open their doors to save the young men’s lives and Enjolras led them inside Corinthe and together they bolted the door. The banging started immediately from the other side, meaning they had not much time.

Enjolras ordered for some to go upstairs. He himself walked to the table, where Father Mabeuf and Gavroche still lied and kissed the older man’s hand in gratitude. Wishing that he would get the same strength as Father Mabeuf had had as he had climbed up he barricade, as he would face his own death. At the same time, he took the opportunity to glance under the table and was glad to see Grantaire motionless and unseen underneath the rug. With luck, the guardsmen would not spot him there and Grantaire could slip away at some point, without anyone noticing him.

After that, Enjolras followed the others upstairs and they broke the staircase, making it harder for the soldiers to climb after them. He ordered two men to stay on the top of it and shoot and hit anyone who tried to follow them. He joined them after retrieving a gun, which had no bullets anymore, but which he used to hit the first men trying to climb up. They managed to drive away six men before the two others next to Enjolras were shot and pulled down. A silence filled the room and no guardsman tried to approach the staircase after that. Enjolras backed off next to his still standing friends: Joly, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They could heard footsteps echoing from downstairs and how muskets were loaded. At least five shots were heard and Enjolras saw his friend fell down beside him. Leaving him alone.

Enjolras heard the men moving furniture and giving each other’s pushes to get upstairs. He retreated near to the furthest wall, next to the window and braced himself for what was bound to happen next. At least ten men made their way inside the large room but they stopped, when they saw Enjolras standing there, alone but fearless.

“It’s their leader. He killed our cannoneer. Let him stay there if he likes. Let’s shoot him there!” One of the guardsmen shouted and everyone gathered around him to prepare their guns.

“ _Oui_ , shot me.” Enjolras was still holding the gun in his hand, which end had broken when he had smashed it against one of the soldier’s heads. He threw it to the floor and lifted his chin up, facing his destiny calmly. A silence fell to the room once again. The soldiers and guardsmen seemed to admire his capability to face death without any fear.

“Aim!” A man, who was clearly a sergeant shouted and his order was obeyed.

“Wait!” An officer had stepped between Enjolras and the muskets. “Do you want your eyes to be blinded?” He then asked from Enjolras.

“No.” Enjolras answered simply and without hesitation. He wanted to be able to see his last moment on this earth and wished that they would already finish their jobs.

“Did you kill the cannoneer?” The officer asked then, wondering if there really was a reason to execute this man.

“I did.” Enjolras sealed his fate and the officer retreated behind the gunmen.

The guns were pointed towards him again and Enjolras waited patiently for the shots to be fired, but a shout interrupted them: “ _Vive la république!_ I’m one of them!”

 

 

When Grantaire opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. He blinked several times, but he still couldn't see. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. He felt something surrounding him, pinning him down to the floor and he struggled to breathe. Grantaire panicked. He let out a repressed cry of terror and moved his arms frantically to find something, anything to hold on to. Then his hand found its way out and Grantaire felt fresh air fill his lungs and he was able to see again.

He sat up fast and then halted, listening to his surrounding, but he heard nothing. He then realized what had woken him up: the silence. It filled the air and together with the smell of blood, it made Grantaire feel sick and most of all: scared. Fumbling, he stood up and took support from the nearest table and almost threw up, once he saw the floor of Corinthe. What had once been a wooden floor, was now covered with still fresh blood and the bodies of rebels. Grantaire’s eyes moved to the table and he felt a cold chill go down his spine, when he saw the shape of a smaller body next to Father Mabeuf’s underneath the same kind of black rug he had been covered with. Grantaire recognized Gavroche’s small form and he felt a lump rise to his throat. That little boy had given his life for the revolution but Grantaire, who had been too much of a coward to join his friends, still lived.

Grantaire forced his eyes away from Gavroche and he walked forward, weaving his way between the bodies. He then took notice of a familiar face, near the front door of Corinthe: Bossuet. It looked like he had been shot outside and he had hauled himself inside with his last strength and died there, half sitting against a wall, eyes still open, staring into nothingness. Grantaire crouched next to his friend and closed his eyes. Bossuet had died as unlucky as he had lived. A shot to a stomach was the most painful way to die. Grantaire looked pass his friend, outside to the street, where he saw Feuilly’s lifeless body, part of his head missing. The courtyard was filled with national guards, but Grantaire didn't fear them. They didn't even seem to notice him as they counted the bodies outside.

Grantaire stood up again, his head felt blurry and his vision darkened for a moment. He searched the dead faces once more, but couldn't find the one he was looking for. He hoped, more than ever before, that a bullet would have pierced his skull while he had been sleeping. Or maybe it had. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was his personal hell, where there were no way out. The worst part was, that he couldn't see Enjolras, not even dead. He was denied of that kind of bliss and would roam the restaurant among the bodies of his friends forever.

Something made Grantaire look towards the second floor. He noticed the destroyed stairs. He wasn’t sure how or why he hauled himself to the lowest, still remaining stair and climbed upstairs. Grantaire was faced by ten or more soldiers and national guards, their backs turned on him and behind their legs Grantaire made out the bodies of his last friends: Joly, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. As he took a step forward, from between the men, Grantaire saw the most beautiful thing he could ever hope for: Enjolras. His Apollo was standing tall, chin lifted high, not afraid to face his death. The sun streaming in from the window behind him seemed to shine from Enjolras, making him look even more divine than normally. Grantaire might've said it out loud, since the soldier standing closest to him turned to look at him, before he declared his loyalty towards the revolution:

“ _Vive la république!_ I’m one of them!” Grantaire shouted as loud as he was able to from his dry throat. All the men armed with muskets, turned around and looked at him in alarm. But Grantaire paid them no attention, his eyes were fixated on the only thing that mattered and Enjolras looked back at him. “ _Vive la république!_ ” He repeated, more silently this time. Slowly, but without hesitation, Grantaire made his way towards this man. As the guardsmen saw he was unarmed, they let him pass without a word. Grantaire stepped over Combeferre, Joly and Courfeyrac’s bodies without once taking his eyes away from Enjolras’. He came to stand next to him.

It broke Enjolras’ heart to see Grantaire behind the guardsmen, standing tall and declaring his loyalty towards the revolution. He had hoped that Grantaire would survive this. That he would live on and one day make something of his life, but now it was too late. But he still couldn't help feeling gratitude. Enjolras was glad to be able to see Grantaire for one last time. He had feared the man would die in the mist of fighting and he would have never even noticed. Enjolras kept his eyes on Grantaire as he crossed the room to come stand beside him. Even how brave Enjolras tried to make himself to look, he was relieved to be able to have somebody to die next to and the fact that somebody was Grantaire, made all the difference.

Grantaire forced his eyes away from Enjolras and faced the guardsmen, saying: “Finish us both with one blow.” Enjolras saw he wasn’t afraid, not even slightest, when the muskets were pointed again at their direction. Grantaire was calm and certain.

Then Grantaire faced Enjolras once again. “Do you permit it?” The question meant many things: Do you permit me to be part of the revolution? Do you permit me to die by your side? Do you permit me to stand as your equal this one last time? Do you permit me to die as your equal? And finally: do you permit me to love you?

Enjolras looked at this man, who he had doubted and loathed time and again, for not doing anything with his life. The man who had spent more days drinking than achieving anything. The man, who he had struck down countless of times for trying and again failing. Enjolras had always known Grantaire could’ve done more and he had loathed him for not doing so. But who was he to judge? That moment, however brief it was, made Enjolras understand that Grantaire had always believed in him. That belief had led him here, dying beside Enjolras and for the revolution, because Enjolras believed in it. Grantaire had set a goal for himself in this life and had stood by it, no matter what everyone had told him and no matter how often Enjolras had let him down. That goal had diverged from Enjolras’, so he had thought it had no matter, but he had been wrong. Enjolras now knew that Grantaire loved him and he loved Grantaire. But that, he had known right from the start. Enjolras had wished that after the revolution Grantaire could've had a life he had dreamed of. A life, in where everyone could've lived how they wished and love whoever they wanted.

There were million things Enjolras wanted to say to him: to apologize, to thank him, to declare his love for him. But there was no time for either of them and as Enjolras had always been a man of action, he reached out to take Grantaire’s hand in his and smiled. They entwined their fingers and squeezed tightly.

Grantaire smiled back at him, it was not as free as Enjolras’, since he felt like bursting to tears. The lump had returned to his throat and the feeling of Enjolras' hand on his made his whole life worthwhile. Grantaire had always known that he would go to hell, as Enjolras would fly to the heavens. And that this was their last moment together and it was more than he could’ve ever hoped for.

The shots were fired in union, before the smile on Enjolras' lips had the change to die down, given by an order neither one of them had heard. Enjolras fell against the wall, pinned there by the bullets as Grantaire succumbed to his feet, both dying immediately, their hands still entwined.


	21. Take my hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be the end of the story. Thank you all for reading and especially for leaving a comment or giving me kudos. I appreciate them all!

The sun followed its course, like the two days of bloodshed hadn't even occured. The residents from nearby houses cleaned the roads from blood and remains of the barricade. They all looked up, as they saw an elegant woman walk down the street of Rue de la Chanvrerie. She was wearing a long, beautiful dress and didn't seem to notice or care the puddles of blood she walked over.

“Madame, there’s nothing to see here.” A national guard, who had been ordered to stand in a watch at the same place Enjolras had watched over the barricade only three hours earlier, said to the woman.

“I have business here.” The woman replied with a stern voice, like she had no doubts about stepping inside the remains of the barricade, even though the smell of blood and corpses rotting floated from inside.

“Madam, there is only police officers and dead people inside. Nothing to see.” The man tried again to change her mind, but the woman only kept on walking, ignoring his protest. “Madame!” He shouted and ran after her. 

A police officer, who had been standing nearby, joined him and together they stepped in front of the woman.

She stopped and looked down at them in contempt. “My son is in here!” She then shouted and both men took a step back in unison, letting her pass. The pity was evident in their behavior. 

The woman walked straight to the Mendétour alley, where all the bodies still laid, as if she knew they would be there. She slowed her steps as she approached the line of bodies. She studied the first one carefully, but then her eyes were caught by a blonde hair a little further away. She was glad she didn't recognize the boy the hair belonged to, but she was also horrified to see that the boy couldn’t be more than twelve years of age. Her eyes kept on searching the row of bodies, when she saw who she had been looking for. With heavy steps, she approached the body and carefully knelt down next to it. She reached out to caress the side of the dead boy’s face and forced to keep the emotions, that threatened to escape, inside herself.

“Joly, my darling!” She heard a woman cry out and turned her head to see a young girl crouch over one of the bodies. She was sobbing uncontrollably and screamed again in agony, as she probably recognized yet another boy close by.

“Musichetta, please, calm down!” An older woman comforted her. The girl sobbed loudly a few more times and looked up towards the unfamiliar woman next to Enjolras.

“Who are you?” She then asked and stood up, her legs unsteady. “Could you be… Enjolras' mother?”

“ _Oui_.” The woman replied and looked yet again, down to her son. His face was calm, like he had died content, a ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. She couldn't even remember the last time she had seen her son smile. The thought made her even sadder. She then noticed, that Enjolras was holding onto something. She leaned forward to see better and only then noticed that Enjolras’ hand was clutching to a hand of another body.

She recognized the black-haired boy immediately. He was much older than the last time she had seen him, but knew he was the same boy she had abused many years ago and later forbid Enjolras from seeing. It seemed she had failed to separate them.

“Who is he?” She remembered vaguely Enjolras introducing the boy to her at the masquerade, but couldn't recall his name.

“He is Grantaire.” The girl, Musichetta, replied. She had walked closer and was now watching at her friends’ bodies from a short distance.

“He… must have been a good friend to my son, dying together, hand in hand.” Enjolras’ mother said, half to herself.

Musichetta remembered Joly discussing about Grantaire’s feeling towards Enjolras with Bossuet, a few years before. She had an impression that Enjolras didn't reciprocate those feelings. Maybe they had been wrong, but even if they had, it didn't matter anymore. Enjolras’ mother would never understand those kind of feelings, so Musichetta didn't say a word. She watched for a moment longer at the woman, staring down at her son, before she returned to Joly and Bossuet, mourning her own loss. She was glad Madame Hucheloup was there to comfort her, even though the woman had her hands full with the destroyed restaurant.

“I have a carriage waiting outside for my son’s body.” Enjolras’ mother spoke out, when a national guard walked pass them.

“Very well, Madame.” The guard nodded and then looked at Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s entwined hands. “My apologies, Madame. We did not have time to move his body before the rigor mortis took over. We can separate their hands when…”

“No need.” She replied.

“Madame?” The man hadn't expected such a respond and was at loss of words.

“I shall take his body with me as well.” She replied calmly and stood up, after arranging her son’s collar better. “They will be buried next to each other, in our family’s graveyard. That… is the least I can do.”

Musichetta, who had heard the whole conversation, was now staring at Enjolras’ mother in disbelief. She watched as the man fetched three other national guards to help him carry the two bodies together outside the barricade. Musichetta was happy to see that the two of them finally got each other. Unfortunately, neither Musichetta or Madame Hucheloup actually knew Grantaire’s last name, but at least he could get his birthday to the stone, as Hucheloup remembered Grantaire once celebrating his birthday at Corinthe. 

Enjolras’ mother thanked them both and followed the body carriers. She knew her husband wouldn't agree on burying Enjolras, the family’s traitor, to their graveyard, let alone a stranger, but she would not budge on her decision. Enjolras could rest in piece between the two persons who cared for him the most: his father and Grantaire.

 

Grantaire returned under his bed. Into his childhood home. He heard his father's heavy footsteps, as he walked inside the room. Grantaire had hid under the bed, just like his mother had told him to. His brother hadn't made it. Grantaire watched as his father stopped to stand in the middle of the room, the barrel of his gun hanging next to his leg, almost touching the floor. Grantaire held his breath, too afraid to breathe. He watched as the barrel was lift up and it dissappeared from his sight. He waited to hear the shot and feel the bullet hit him through the bed. Grantaire closed his eyes, when the shot rang in the air, but the pain he had waited for did not come. Instead, he heard a loud thud and when he opened his eyes, he saw his father's dead eyes stare back at him. The eyes, which had been full of pain and agony just a moment earlier, were now empty, staring into nothingness. Grantaire stared back. He had stayed there until morning, until his neighbor found him shivering under the bed and had dragged him out. Grantaire had traveled to Paris alone. He hadn't said goodbye to Bahorel, who never learned of what had come to his family. He had roamed the streets, searching for the address he had visited only couple times before, when he had ran into Courfeyrac, who had been more than glad to show him where to go. Grantaire's aunt had been crushed by the news and he had seen the disappointment on her face of seeing the child, who had not shown any promise to become anything in life, alive. 

The slap Grantaire felt across his ear, was little compared to the hits his father used to give whenever he had disobeyed. His aunt was a fragile woman, but determined when she wanted to be. She had the determination to punish him longer than her brother had. 

Grantaire went back to the moment he found her dead. She was leaning against the table, like she had done many times before, but Grantaire recognized those empty eyes and knew immediately what had happened. He had taken the alcohol she hadn't had the time to finish. He then stood in the dock of Seine, staring into the darkness with that bottle in his hand. His head fuzzy and mind as dark as the water. That was when he heard Enjolras call out his name, beckoning him back to the world of the living. 

Then Grantaire returned home. His father had passed out on the chair. Grantaire carefully took the still half-full bottle of alcohol from his hand and drank it together with Bahorel and their other friends. When he returned home, his father gave him the beating of his lifetime and made him swore he would never touch a bottle again.

Grantaire remembered the smell of fresh bread. His aunt rarely baked anything, but sometimes she did and at those days, she would smile and give a big slice to him. It reminded him of his mother. That was his aunt's way of showing that she cared, but she cared only sometimes. 

Then Grantaire was together with Bahorel. They were taking care of Bahorel's family's three cows. The oldest one, usually kind and calm, was stung by a bee and she suddenly kicked Bahorel straight to stomach. Grantaire couldn't stop laughing.

He then returned to his father's lap. They used to sit together beside the kitchen table. His father used to sang a song and drum the table with his hand and hold a bottle of whiskey with another. He used to rock his leg, the one Grantaire was sitting on, along with the song. Sometimes, Grantaire jumped to the floor and danced around as his father kept on singing and clapped his hands for rhythm. 

One of the most wondrous moments of his life was the time he first saw the carnival. The moment he heard real music for the first time, it filled his body and soul and he danced around for as long as his legs carried him.

He then remembered the opera where he had sneaked into with his friends. The color of the costumes and the strong voices echoing through the hall and his childhood friends: Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Combeferre, listening there beside him.

Grantaire returned to the moment he first laid eyes on his Apollo. Enjolras had been strong and beautiful, even though his lip had been cut and blood was covering his jaw. Grantaire had loved him right from the start. He then laid next to Enjolras in his gigantic bed. They laughed, until sleep overtook him and he fell asleep, feeling safe and warm.

Grantaire was back in the masquerade. At the moment his eyes locked with Enjolras' as they danced along with the music. He wished he could've danced with Enjolras. To be able to hold his arms around him and look into those beautiful eyes without any shame. Then he sat beside Enjolras on the bureau. He felt Enjolras' hand on his and was about to lean over to catch his lips with his own, when Enjolras turned his head away.

Grantaire remembered the first kiss. His mind had been dizzy, as he had leaned over to press their lips together. He relived the horror of Enjolras backing away and the bliss of him stepping closer and capturing his lips with his. Grantaire remembered waking up as Enjolras hovered over him. He felt every kiss and every touch and the feeling of Enjolras moving inside him.

Grantaire sang with his friends. Together inside Corinthe, no one else but the _Les Amis de l'ABC_. They all sat around one table, merry and happy.

Grantaire relived all those moments of his life, but it didn't seem the same. It felt like someone was pulling him somewhere, trying to make him remember something important. Sometimes he thought someone called out his name, but he couldn't make out who it was or where the voice was coming from. Then, slowly, the memories faded. He tried fiercely to hold onto them: to his childhood, to the sound of the music and the feeling of Enjolras' arms around him. But it didn't work and he was surrounded by darkness.

 

 

Grantaire felt like he was in the bottom of the Seine: in the darkness, cold and alone. He couldn’t see, hear or smell anything. Then, from somewhere far away, he could hear a voice. A familiar voice, calling out his name. Enjolras was calling out to him, needing him. Grantaire knew he had to get to him, somehow. He tried so hard to open his eyes, to be freed from the overwhelming darkness, but it didn't go away. But instead, he was able to smell Enjolras and then he tasted something salty in his mouth. Enjolras’ voice called out to him again and Grantaire knew he had to wake up.

When Grantaire opened his eyes, he felt like suffocating. Like his mouth and nose had been covered with something and it felt like his head was being crushed. He blinked a few times and tried to make out where he was, when he saw Enjolras’ face hovering over him. Enjolras was holding his upper body and head tightly against his chest. Grantaire could feel his body trembling and the salt he tasted in his mouth came from tears. Enjolras was crying. 

Grantaire forgot he couldn’t breathe. His heart clenched painfully from the sight. He called out Enjolras’ name and reached out to touch his arm, which still clutched around his head. Only then, Enjolras seemed to realize he was awake and he loosened his hold around his body. Grantaire sat up and Enjolras looked up at him, his eyes red from crying. Grantaire didn’t think, he just wrapped his arms around Enjolras and pulled him into his embrace. He held on tightly as Enjolras cried against his chest. He buried his nose into his blonde curls and kissed his head. Enjolras held onto him like his life depended on it, as if they weren’t already dead. Only then, Grantaire realized he was there with Enjolras and not alone, burning in hell. He would’ve probably laughed out loud in relief, if Enjolras wasn't so broken. They were still on the second floor of Corinthe, the same corner they had died in, but the floor was no longer covered with their comrades' blood and bodies. It was just the way it used to be, before the revolution had started. 

Enjolras mumbled something against his shirt, but Grantaire couldn’t make out what he had said. “It is okay.” He instead whispered to Enjolras’ hair.

“I killed you all.” Enjolras said, more clearly, but his voice was broken. Grantaire had never heard Enjolras sound this fragile. It made tears rise to his own eyes as well. “I lead you all to your deaths and for what…?” Enjolras’ voice trailed off and he sobbed into Grantaire’s chest. “You all died for nothing! Like you told me, right from the beginning, but I did not listen to you! I insisted on going through with it and no one will even remember our names.”

This time, Grantaire felt anger swell in his guts. How could Enjolras doubt himself like that? “Listen to me.” He said, but felt Enjolras only shook his head. “Listen to me, Enjolras!” He repeated and held on tighter around him. “We all chose to follow you. You gave us a change to turn our backs and walk away, but we all chose not to. We believed in you, _oui_ , but you did not force us to follow you. We made that decision by ourselves, even me.”

Enjolras had now stopped shaking and his crying slowly died down, as he listened to his words.

“Now, our friends are all outside, waiting for their fearless leader, which I know you are.” Grantaire couldn't say how he knew their friends were out there waiting for them, but he just knew. He finally loosened his hold over Enjolras and gave him some space to gather himself. “You are going to wipe your tears and go greet them, since we fought and won the revolution.” Grantaire remembered the hesitation on the faces of their executioners, who would never forget the revolution and they wouldn't be the only ones.

Enjolras took deep breaths and wiped away his tears with shaking hands. He had woken up with Grantaire lying dead on his feet. He had tried to wake him up, but he hadn’t responded and something had just snapped inside him. He hadn’t been able to control himself. He had been able to stand strong, in front of his executioners and till the bitter end, but after it was all over, the feeling of defeat and knowledge of leading all his friends to their deaths, had overwhelmed him.

Grantaire smiled proudly, as Enjolras pulled himself together. He stood up and offered his hand down for Enjolras to take. Enjolras eyed his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it and let himself be pulled up to his feet by Grantaire. But instead of letting go, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into his embrace. Grantaire let out a sound of surprise, but quickly hugged him back, enjoying the feeling of Enjolras’ arms around him.

“I cannot believe you stepped in front of those national guards.” Enjolras whispered to his ear and let out a short laugh. “ _Merci_ , Grantaire.”

“I told you: I am capable of dying.” Grantaire joked, but instead of laughing, Enjolras fell silent. Grantaire wished he hadn't brought that up, when Enjolras took a step back from him. He was about to open his mouth for an apology, but to his surprise, it was Enjolras who apologized to him:

“I am so sorry, Grantaire. For everything.”

Grantaire wanted to say there was nothing to apologize for, but his voice was lost and so instead, he just smiled at him and this time, Enjolras smiled back. The same smile which he had given Grantaire just before they were shot and then, Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s cheeks and kissed him.

Grantaire closed his eyes and answered to the kiss. He had thought he would never feel Enjolras’ lips against his ever again and so, the warm and soft lips felt even more perfect than before. It seemed to last for eternity, but at the same time only for a second. Then, Enjolras pulled them apart. Grantaire wanted to follow him, to keep Enjolras close, but he knew everyone were waiting for Enjolras. From the distance, they could hear their friends voices, coming from the outside.

“Come.” Enjolras moved his hand from Grantaire’s face down, to take hold of his hand. Grantaire followed him.

They took a step towards the staircase, when their eyes were caught by the window. It didn't open up to the usual second floor view to the rue de la Chanvrerie, but straight to the street, like they weren’t on the second floor at all. It should’ve made them surprised, but instead, it felt normal. Enjolras led them to the window and they stepped outside like through a normal doorway.

Everyone were there, standing in front of the barricade and clapping their hands together. Everyone who had been part of the revolution. Their closest friends: Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly, Jehan, Bossuet, Joly and Gavroche stood closest to them. They all smiled and came to greet Enjolras, giving him hugs and kisses.

“ _Do you hear the people sing, lost in the valley of the night?_ ” The whole crowd suddenly started to sing. Their friends stepped aside, to make a way towards the barricade for Enjolras, which was still as intact as the day they had build it. Enjolras started to walk forward, greeting his friends as he went. He didn't notice Grantaire’s hand slip away from his.

“ _It is the music of the people, who are climbing to the light. For the wretched of the earth, there is a flame that never dies, even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise!_ ”

Grantaire hugged his friends and deliberately lagged behind from Enjolras. That’s where his place was and always had been: in the crowd, supporting Enjolras from there, if needed.

“ _We will walk behind the ploughshare; we will put away the sword! The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward!_ ”

Enjolras shook as many hands as he was able to along his way to the foot of the barricade, all the while the people around him were singing. Gavroche offered him the red flag and Enjolras took it into his hand. He started to climb up the barricade, but suddenly stopped. He turned to look behind himself and searched the crowd with his eyes, until his eyes stopped at Grantaire, standing behind all their friends.

“ _Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?_ ”

Grantaire watched in surprise, for Enjolras to hold out his hand towards him. He looked at the hand in shock, before lifting his gaze to Enjolras, who smiled down at him and nodded. Slowly, Grantaire lifted his hand and entwined it with Enjolras’. He was pulled up to the barricade and together their climbed to the top. Grantaire expected to be faced with the end of the rue de la Chanvrerie, but instead, a view of whole Paris opened up before them. Grantaire didn't even realize he was holding his breath as he watched the unbelievable sight in front of them. It was like they were back at the bell-tower of Notre Dame, watching over the city. It wasn’t just the view of Paris that made him hold his breath, but the fact that the streets were full of people, all clapping their hands and singing.

“ _Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring, when tomorrow comes!_ ”

“Here.” Grantaire turned his head to see Enjolras hold out the flag towards him.

“You are offering it to me?” Grantaire questioned and carefully took it, as Enjolras nodded for an answer. Their other hands were still clutched together tightly. Grantaire wasn't sure, if he was worthy to carry the flag, but was happy for the gesture Enjolras made.

Their friends had climbed up to join them on the barricade, all holding France’s flags in their hands, the France's which they had hoped it to be: free and in peace. With them was Éponine, who looked like she was finally free from her tormenting love towards Marius. Then, for the first time, Grantaire noticed three familiar faces among the crowd below them. But when he blinked, they had either moved or were gone. But he had been sure those three had been smiling at him and the faces that had been haunting him throughout his whole life, were finally gone. Enjolras, in other hand, saw his father: smiling proudly at him.

“ _Take my hand, I’ll lead you to salvation. Take my love, for love is everlasting! And remember the truth that once was spoken: to love another person is to see the face of God!_ ” The song continued and Grantaire knew, although all his memories were the same as before his death, he would be okay.


End file.
